


Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway)

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein I take a giant leap from set-ups in book 7 to create a post-war wizarding world that isn't quite the bright shiny penny we get in the epilogue. Neville gets whumped a bit; Severus acts a touch more well-rounded; Hermione is confident and caring; a bunch of new teachers get vaguely silly names, and there are quotes from Monty Python.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of nowhere and grew up fast, save the last five thousand words or so, which slowly unfolded while I waited with a measure of impatience. There are quotes from various Monty Python projects scattered throughout (and used with a purpose). Trust me on that. Title comes from the Flogging Molly song "Float", which played on repeat with a few other tunes while I pieced this thing together. Much love to distaff_exile who betaed the crap out of this, kept me from repeating myself, and kept me from repeating myself. You're fab, my dear.

Neville jumps when he feels weight on his shoulder. He looks up from repotting orchids to find himself eye-to-eye with an owl. “Shoo,” he says quietly, glancing around to see if anyone’s come in. No one has, and the owl seems entirely unimpressed. “Go away,” Neville tries. The owl looks at him, drops the letter from its beak, and flutters outside to peck the ground for worms.

“It can’t,” Neville mutters and wipes off his hands before checking the envelope.

Neville Longbottom  
Flowers for Hours  
Greenhouse #4  
In the Back

The Hogwarts seal looks like an unblinking eye, cataloguing every reaction Neville’s having to the sudden interference of everything he’s tried to leave behind. He breaks the seal slowly and stares at the folded papers resting in the envelope. He could close the envelope, he thinks, and pretend like he never got it. Write ‘RETURN TO SENDER’ along the back and send the owl on its way. He pulls out the papers slowly and opens them to read:

_Dear Mr. Longbottom:_

_I hope this letter finds you well. As you may know, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is reopening in the fall. I would like to extend an invitation to you to join the teaching staff as the Professor of Herbology. Enclosed you will find all necessary information regarding your room, board, and pay as well as a contract for your perusal._

_Please respond no later than July 31._

_Regards,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Neville blinks. He blinks again. He looks out the side door of the greenhouse and watches the owl dig around for grubs. He rereads the letter and skims the other pages of information.

It’s been four years, he thinks. His hands shouldn’t shake at the sight of the seal. His heart shouldn’t drum at McGonagall’s handwriting. He’s twenty-six, lives in a flat, works a job everyday, and should not feel absolute fear crawl up his throat when he thinks about his last memories on the grounds of Hogwarts.

He puts the letter in the pocket of his trousers and goes back to potting orchids.

*

Two weeks later he’s reading on his couch when there’s a knock at the door. Neville opens the door to find Hermione on the doorstep, a letter in her hand. “You too, huh?” he says and invites her in with a wave of his hand.

“I said yes immediately, of course,” Hermione says. She cocks her head at Neville. “Minerva wrote back and said you hadn’t responded yet.”

Minerva, Neville thinks, as if it’s as easy as switching to first names. “I haven’t decided,” he says quietly. “Tea?”

“Sure.” Hermione follows him into the kitchen and sits at the little table there. “You’d be a great Herbology professor, you know. You’ve kept up with plants in the magical world, and you’re so patient.”

“I know I could do it,” Neville tells her. He charms the teapot warm and levitates it to the table. He carries the cup and saucers by hand. “What are you teaching?”

“Muggle Studies,” Hermione says. “I’ve already sent Minerva a list of books for the library to have on reserve for papers.”

Neville smiles. “You’ve got your year all mapped out already, don’t you?”

“Only the first semester,” Hermione admits, smiling into her teacup. She sips her tea and sets down her cup and gives Neville a serious look. “Are you or aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “There’s so many things…” He looks away from Hermione and at his kitchen with its gas stove and drying rack. His dirty dishes are lying in the sink, and his floor could use a sweeping. It would take a flick of his wand and a few quick words, and the whole place would be sparkling again. Neville stands and walks to the sink. He runs water and rinses off the breakfast dishes, placing them in the drying rack.

“What happened?” Hermione asks in the same quiet, concerned tone she’s always asked.

“Everything,” Neville answers in the same flat tone he’s always answered. “There was…” He rinses the last plate, tucks it behind the others, and dries his hand on a dish towel. “My memories of Hogwarts aren’t all victorious.”

“Neither are mine,” Hermione says, confused.

But yours are so much closer, Neville thinks and sits down. He sips his tea. “I’m thinking about it, really. It’s just…harder.”

“If you would just tell me—”

“No.” Neville cuts her off. “It’s not for telling.”

Hermione sighs and gives him a long, hard look. “Fine. Back to square one, as usual.” She stands and opens her arms. “I’ve got to go home and start packing. Try to make up your mind so that Minerva doesn’t have to scramble, will you?”

“I’ll try,” Neville promises, and hugs her goodbye. “Be careful,” he says into her hair.

“I will,” she promises quietly.

*

The teachers' train for the Hogwarts Express is only a quarter full. Hermione waves at Neville as he boards, and he waves in return, but moves down the train to find an empty car rather than join her near the front. She’ll think he’s nervous and wants to be alone. She’ll be half right.

Neville finds an empty compartment with empty compartments on either side and settles into a seat. He watches the platform and straightens from his slouch when he spots a familiar figure all in black, walking along the length of the train and boarding two cars up. It can’t be, he thinks, but he knows it is. And he knows it even more when Severus walks into his car, gives him a hard look, and sits across from him.

“Longbottom,” he drawls.

“Professor Sn-Snape,” Neville returns, and wants to curse at the stutter. He looks at Severus and tenses against a shudder. “How are you, Sir?” He asks, and finds courage in the way his voice holds.

“I am not yet dead,” Severus says, and there’s the barest bit of humor in his tone.

Neville relaxes completely. “You can dance and you can sing.”

“I cannot yet, however, dance the Highland Fling,” Severus replies.

The train gives a lurch and starts to chug forward. Neville has to grip the windowsill to keep from sliding out of his seat. He feels as awkward and clumsy as he did at eleven, searching for Trevor through the train cars. Not nearly as scared, though, in the presence of Snape. “You’ve been well, Sir?” he asks as their car clears the platform and the window fills with bright blue sky.

“Well enough,” Snape states. He stands then, shaking out his robes, and gives Neville a long, measuring look. “I seconded Minerva’s vote to make you Herbology professor.” And then he’s gone, a quick swirl of robes and the muted sound of his heels clicking on the carpeted floor of the train.

“Thank you,” Neville says at his back, too quietly for Snape to hear.

*

_It took a full week after the death of Voldemort for the Death Eaters to gather up and decide to keep fighting. They’d all still been at Hogwarts—Neville and Harry and the rest—and it was only by the luck of a quick-flying owl that anyone there knew for certain that the Death Eaters were coming and that they were organized. And they had, at most, one day to plan._

_Professor McGonagall had looked at the crowd of weary people around her and said, in a fierce tone, “Run if you must.” No one had moved. “Then we fight,” she’d said, and started sketching a battle plan. She’d looked up from the map of the grounds and straight at Harry. “You have to leave.”_

_“But—”_

_“They want to kill you.”_

_“They want to kill all of us!” Harry had tried to argue._

_“Yes,” McGonagall had agreed. “But you most of all. And to get you to come out, they will do unspeakable things to the rest of us. If you’re gone—well and truly gone—it could deflect enough of them that we’ll have a chance.”_

_Harry had stuck out his chin and looked around the room, and Neville had been so fearful that he would refuse. “All right,” Harry had said, and his shoulders had dropped, and Ron and Hermione were already at his side. “All right.”_

_McGonagall had rigged a Portkey and sent them away. She’d finished her battle plans, assigned squadrons, and then pulled Neville aside. She’d handed him the Sorting Hat. “Your sword,” and it had sounded like a benediction._

_The Death Eaters had approached the gates and were waiting, seething, as McGonagall walked halfway across the front lawn and levitated a fork to them. “He’s gone!” she’d yelled. “That is the Portkey!”_

_A Death Eater near the front of the mob grabbed the fork as it dipped towards his head. McGonagall flicked her wrist, and the fork exploded._

_Neville led the charge._

*

Neville jerks awake when the train whistles. He blinks and rubs his eyes and tries to push back the memory of that battle. It’s always a blur in his dream, and all he can see for certain is the sword of Godric Gryffindor. There are versions of the dream where it simply hovers above Neville, and he can’t quite reach it.

“Lunch?” the matron asks as she wheels past with the cart.

Neville takes a sandwich and a pumpkin juice and gives her a tired smile as she rolls to the next compartment. He looks out the window and watches clouds slide over the sun. His reflection stares back at him at an angle, and he looks at his shaggy hair and round face and hears his Gran in his head, calling him handsome and sweet.

“There you are,” Hermione says, and settles across from him with a sandwich of her own. “I thought you’d have gotten over your nerves and come found me by now.”

“Fell asleep,” Neville says and takes a drink of pumpkin juice. “Have you met everyone?”

“Just nearly,” Hermione replies and unwraps her sandwich. The crusts are cut off, and it makes Neville smile. “I’ve not run into the Potions professor.”

“It’s Severus, I think,” Neville tells her, and shrugs when she gives him a surprised look. “I saw him earlier.”

Hermione’s surprised look doesn’t go away. “Since when have you called him ‘Severus’, Nev?”

“I…” Neville feels a blush climb up his face, and he drops his head so his hair covers his cheeks. “It’s his name,” he mumbles into his sandwich as he takes a bite.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says with a small smile. “It just sounded a bit strange, is all.” She leans across the aisle and pats his hand. “I do hate making you blush. Makes me feel bad.”

“It’s okay,” Neville says. He tries to give her a smile. “Really.”

“You sure?”

“It’s weird being here,” he admits. He waves an arm at the compartment and the two of them. “I keep remembering first year.”

“Oh, first year,” Hermione half-groans and blushes. “I think back on that and what a know-it-all I was, and I just get embarrassed.”

“What do you mean, ‘was’?” Neville asks and has to pull away when Hermione swats at him.

“That’s payback for making you blush, isn’t it?” Hermione asks.

“A little,” Neville agrees. “I’m glad you’re here, Hermione,” he says after a pause. “You were the first person who was nice to me at school, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” she says, and her eyes get a little misty. “But you were the first nice person I met, too.”

They smile at each other for a moment, and they finish their dinners in silence. Before Hermione can immerse herself in whatever book Neville knows she’s carrying, he reaches into his robes and pulls out a deck of playing cards. “Poker?” he suggests.

Hermione grins. “Sure.” She transfigures the wastebin into a table and watches Neville deal. “I still haven’t figured out where you learned to play cards,” she says as she sorts her hand. “I don’t know why you just won’t tell me.”

“It’s not very often I know something you don’t,” Neville says as he discards a three and a six. “But don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He laughs when Hermione taps his foot with her own in reprimand.

*

McGonagall meets them at the edge of the lake, smiling in a way that reminds Neville of his Gran. “You’ve made it,” she says to the crowd at large, and she smiles when they all give out a tired cheer. “With the exception of Professor Snape, Professor Binns, and myself, you’re all new staff this year, and I look forward to watching you all bloom in the coming months.” She nods at Neville. “If you’ll forgive the pun, Professor Longbottom.”

“Of course,” Neville says before he swallows hard and tries to keep his knees from knocking.

“You all right?” Hermione asks quietly as they start up the shore.

“Professor,” is all Neville can get out, and he’s relieved when Hermione grabs his arm.

“I know,” she replies. “Isn’t it weird?” But her voice is excited, and Neville just feels terrified. And then Hermione’s letting go of his arm and stepping forward and asking the new Arthimancy professor about something called “Cow-Q-Less”.

“Chin up, Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville nearly jumps out of his skin and whirls around to find Severus standing a few feet behind him. “That’s not fair,” he snaps.

“You’ll live,” Snape replies, and they fall into step as they start after the group. “I wanted to speak to you about the greenhouses.”

“What about them?” Neville asks, glancing at Severus from the corner of his eye.

“Professor Sprout always kept one off-limit to students to allow me to grow some of the more dangerous and specialty herbs I require. Minerva has rebuilt all the greenhouses, and I require space to grow what I need.”

It’s weird, Neville thinks, to find comfort in the way Severus won’t actually ask for the space. “I’m going to inspect them tomorrow morning after breakfast. I can meet you there at nine.”

“That will suffice,” Severus says with a sharp nod.

Neville is about to say something more, to try to be witty, but they crest the hill and the sight of Hogwarts, lit up from top to bottom, makes him stumble and nearly fall. It’s only Severus’s quick grab at his arm that keeps him from falling. Neville stares and discovers, when he blinks, that he’s crying. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and turns away from Severus. “I shouldn’t—”

“Chin up, Mr. Longbottom,” Severus says quietly. He’s quiet for a moment, and then, “Neville.”

It’s such a shock that Neville can’t breathe for a moment. He turns around slowly and looks at Severus in the moonlight. Severus stares back. “Severus,” Neville says and gets a blink for his efforts. “Severus,” he says again just to say it.

“Neville,” Severus responds.

They fall into step again, and Neville tries not to see memories on the lawn. It’s difficult, more difficult than he’s even imagined, and when his foot touches the bottom step, all he can see is rubble and blood.

“It will pass,” Snape murmurs and takes the stairs as though he means to prove them wrong.

It gives Neville strength to watch him move so certainly, and he tries to copy it as he walks into the Great Hall. The dais is empty; everyone is gathered around the Ravenclaw table instead, and Neville sits next to Hermione when she waves him over.

“I was wondering if you’d wandered off,” she says, and Neville watches her eyes flick to Snape. “Were you two chatting?” She asks.

“He needs greenhouse space,” Neville tells her. “He didn’t ask for it, of course, but he managed to phrase it so it wasn’t a direct order.”

“I saw him walk in the door, and I felt eleven all over again,” Hermione confesses. “How long until you think we stop doing that?”

The ‘we’ makes Neville’s throat ache. He coughs lightly to clear it. “Maybe not for awhile. I mean, it’s kind of hard not to connect everything to when we were…” He trails off and closes his eyes as memories hit him, and it’s only the food popping onto the table that keeps Hermione from noticing. When he opens his eyes, Severus is looking at him, face impassive.

Chin up, Neville thinks and starts passing to the left.

*

Dinner turns into an impromptu party when Grace Wickersham, the new Charms Professor, throws open her satchel and pulls out bottle after bottle of Fairie Goblet champagne. “I hope you’ll forgive me,” she says to Minerva, her Irish accent making the ‘r’ roll pleasantly. “My family bottles it, and I thought it was just the thing to celebrate Hogwarts opening again.”

Minerva tries to look stern for a moment, but then her eyes brighten, and she laughs a little. “I think it’s wonderful, Grace. Thank you.”

Champagne flutes pop onto the table, along with fruit and cheese, and the bottles start floating around, filling glasses and then hanging in mid-air dancing lazy circles around the table. Minerva stands and raises her glass. “To Hogwarts,” she says. “Those who were here, those who have returned, and those who will come.” She pauses and blinks a few times. “And to those who made it great.”

They drink, and Neville nearly sneezes as bubbles tickle his nose. Hermione actually does sneeze. “Every time,” she bemoans, and the table—save Severus—laughs in agreement.

Neville drinks his first glass of champagne slowly, nibbling on grapes as he takes small sips and chats a bit with the new Astronomy Professor.

“Walter Nomos,” he says with a firm handshake. “And you’re the famous Neville Longbottom.”

“Famous?” Neville asks. “Don’t know what I’ve done—”

“You pulled the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat,” Nomos interrupts. “You slayed that awful snake, and from what I heard, you did a bit of shadowy stuff for the Order after Voldemort’s death.”

“Not me,” Neville says and nearly spills champagne down his front. “I never had the stomach for shadowy stuff.”

“But the sword?” Nomos asks.

“Can’t deny it,” Neville responds, and he sees in the way Nomos’s face lights up, the looks everyone gave Harry when he first arrived at Hogwarts. It makes his scalp itch, and Neville gulps the last bit of his champagne to try and calm himself. A bottle flies through the air and daintily refills his glass before he can do more than swallow and breathe.

“To you,” Nomos says after Neville’s glass is full. “And your bravery.”

Minvera overhears the toast and repeats it, and Neville is suddenly staring down the entirety of the staff, all of them smiling, save—again—Severus. “To Neville,” they say in unison, and Neville feels his face heat with a blush.

*

“You were so red!” Hermione exclaims later as they sit on the stairs and look out at the lawn.

“I hate being the center of attention like that,” Neville tells her. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“It’s different when you’re teaching,” Hermione says. “I’m sure it is.”

“But you don’t know.” Neville twitches when Hermione pokes him in the ribs.

“Don’t be so down, Nev. It’ll be all right. I know it will.” Hermione leans against him and stares up at the sky. “I heard from Ron and Harry,” she says. “They’re in Timbuktu or Tahiti. Ron’s handwriting was illegible for the last part of the note. He said they’ll be back in England for Christmas.”

“That’ll be nice,” Neville replies. “Do you think they’ll stop travelling soon?”

“I hope,” Hermione says, and her voice is very quiet. “I don’t know what Harry’s looking for. I wish I did.”

Neville’s tempted to make a guess, but he holds his tongue and puts an arm around Hermione for a hug. “They’ll be back for Christmas. Maybe Harry’ll have found it by then.”

“I think he’s just looking,” Hermione says after a long pause. “And I think Ron’s with him because he’s a little scared that Harry won’t come back if he doesn’t have someone reminding him we’re here.”

“Maybe,” Neville murmurs. “But Ron’s with him. They’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agrees, and Neville watches as she pulls herself back together. “They’ll be fine.” She gives him a smile that’s a little desperate, and Neville wonders if that’s how he looks most of the time.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” he says and helps Hermione up the stairs. They hug goodnight in the entryway. Hermione’s rooms are up a flight and to the left. Neville’s are down a flight and to the right. He takes the stairs slowly, hand trailing along the wall, and looks for cracked bricks or dented armor and sees only smooth stone and a streak of silver polish on one knight’s chest. He rubs at the polish with his thumb and wonders how the rubble and ruin he left became Hogwarts again so quickly.

*

_At the end of the battle, Neville found himself standing back-to-back with Snape. They weren’t the last ones alive, Neville knew, but looking around, he didn’t feel entirely certain. “Professor,” he said quietly._

_“Quiet,” Snape hissed, and they listened together for a pop or a hiss. The front lawn was eerily silent, and Neville adjusted the grip on his sword as he looked around for danger. There were bodies everywhere, and when Neville dropped to his knees from exhaustion, all he could smell was blood._

_“Professor,” Neville whispered, and then he vomited, hands digging into the dirt next to someone’s head. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and looked up when Snape walked around him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered._

_“Get up,” Snape said. He thumped Neville on the head with his wand. “Up. Now.”_

_Neville staggered to his feet and jumped in surprise when Snape grabbed his elbow to steady him. “I can—”_

_“It’s not over,” Snape said sharply. “But it’s over for now.” He pulled on Neville’s arm and led him along, tripping over bodies and rubble until they were at the front steps. McGonagall was there, a ragged, burned hole on the front of her robes._

_“Report,” she said to Severus and sounded impossibly fresh and calm._

_“They’re dead or running,” Snape replied. He let go of Neville’s arm and pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. “What next?”_

_McGonagall surveyed the carnage on the lawn. She looked at Neville and Snape, and breathed out. “We’ve got three of them inside. We’re going to ask them questions.” She looked at Neville again. “Mr. Longbottom, if you’d—”_

_“I’m coming,” Neville said. He heaved his sword up and laid it flat against his shoulder. “Where are they?”_

*

He dreams about the alcove near the dungeons where they’d tied them up. He sees them yelling and cursing, watches as they writhe in pain from potions Severus force feeds them. Sees McGonagall watching him from the corner of her eye, and shows her he can handle it by grabbing one of the Death Eaters by the neck, pushing the point of the sword against his chin and saying, very slowly, “I am Neville Longbottom. My parents are Alice and Frank.”

He dreams about the way the man’s eyes widened and his fingers scrabbled, and how McGonagall pulled his arm away and said, softly, “That will do, Mr. Longbottom.”

*

It’s sunny when Neville wakes, and he spends time watching the light bounce off the drawer pulls of his dresser before he throws off the covers and steps out of bed. He stretches and rubs his face. There’s a teapot on his sideboard, steam curling from the spout, and he waves his wand lazily so it will pour him a cup. He showers and shaves and combs his hair. The tea is just sweet enough, and he sips it as he walks around his rooms and wonders where he’s going to find enough books to fill the empty shelves. The chair by the fireplace creaks as he sits in it, but he finds that he likes the sound.

He tries very hard not to think about his dream, and when his cup is empty, he leaves it on an end table and makes his way to the Great Hall. The house elves have set up a buffet, with plates near the door and food spanning almost half the length of the hall. Neville picks up a plate and helps himself to kippers and eggs, a flaky warm biscuit, and another cup of tea. He sits at the Gryffindor table and smiles at Wickersham when she stumbles in the door.

“Neville, isn’t it?” She asks as she sits across from him.

“Yes,” he says.

“Good. I’m bloody awful with names,” she tells him in a near-whisper, and Neville feels himself smile.

“Me, too,” he admits. “But it is Grace, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she says with a smile. “So we’re both doing fine for this morning.” Grace turns her head when she hears someone enter the Great Hall. “And who is that?” she whispers to Neville.

“That’s Professor Snape,” Neville says. “You won’t forget his name, trust me.”

“What’s his first name?”

“Severus,” Neville supplies without thinking, and as Grace takes in a deep breath, he suddenly wishes he had.

“Severus!” Grace says with a wave. “We’re over here!”

“I can see,” Snape responds, rolling his eyes at her theatrics. “And that is precisely why I will be over here.” He sits at the Slytherin table, back to them, and starts to eat his breakfast.

“Not a morning person?” Grace asks, looking completely unembarrassed.

“He’s just…not,” Neville says and wonders how to explain. “He’s—”

“Professor Snape,” Nomos says as he joins their table. “Didn’t you have him, Grace?”

“My parents tutored me at home,” Grace explains. “Mum and Dad were here during the first reign, and it scared them to bits.”

“I just missed it,” Nomos tells her. “I’d finished the year before.” He smiles at Neville. “And you, of course, were right in the thick of the second wave.” Nomos leans over the table and throws a quick glance over his shoulder. “Tell me, what was it like, having a Death Eater for a professor?”

“Who’s a Death Eater?” Grace asks. She looks behind herself at Snape, and her eyebrows go up. “He…He’s not! He can’t be! The Prophet says they’re all locked away or dead.”

Neville nearly chokes as he swallows his biscuit. “He’s not,” he tells Grace. “And he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“He’s ‘reformed’,” Nomos says with air quotes and a roll of his eyes. “Now he only slaughters innocent people on weekends.”

“I never slaughtered innocents,” Snape says from directly behind Nomos. “Only those who justly deserved to be put down like mangy curs.”

Nomos nearly jumps from his chair, and Neville doesn’t quite manage to stifle his laugh. “Severus,” he greets with a badly-hidden smile. “Ready to look at the greenhouses?”

“If you can pull yourself away from such _stimulating_ conversation, Mr. Longbottom.” Snape flicks his eyes at Nomos and sneers when Nomos tries to glare. “Bigger, stronger, and uglier than you, Mr. Nomos,” he says and turns in a swirl of robes.

“You could have said something!” Nomos practically yells at Neville.

Neville holds out his plate to offer Nomos his kippers. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t feel it. “He’s sneaky like that.”

“He must be terrifying in class,” Grace says, stealing half the kippers before Nomos can lift his fork.

“Incredibly,” Neville agrees and stands up. He gives them both a nod, walks out of the Great Hall and down the front steps. Severus is waiting next to the greenhouses, arms crossed and glaring at the horizon like it means to start a fight. Neville stands next to him and shades his eyes with his hand. “Which one?” he asks.

“What?” Snape asks, the ‘t’ nearly reverberating in the quiet.

“Which tree are you going to set on fire?”

“I’ve not yet decided.”

“I like the scraggly one on the left.”

“Perhaps.”

Neville looks away from the trees and watches Severus’s profile. “Did you have a greenhouse in mind?” he asks.

Severus reaches into his robe and removes a small roll of parchment. He taps it with his wand; it unfurls and hangs in the air where they can both read it. “I require the ability to micro-climate and at least 200 square meters of space.”

“All the greenhouses are at least 200 square meters,” Neville says, squinting at Severus’s notes. “Pro—Minerva sent me schematics when I agreed to come on staff.” He doesn’t look over to see if Severus caught his slip, but he feels himself flush from embarrassment anyway. “The micro-climate greenhouses are on the other end,” Neville says with a wave. “You can head that way and look around if you like. I was going to get a look around the classroom spaces.”

Snape walks down the path without a word, and Neville watches him go for a moment before he turns into the first greenhouse. It’s humid inside, mostly-empty pots sitting in wait for Neville and the students. He stands for a moment in Professor’s Sprout customary spot—near the door, but slightly to the left—and feels a light breeze hit him square in the back. He remembers the heat in the greenhouse year-round, and he wonders how many years it took before Professor Sprout found just the right spot. He turns to leave and spots a small square of dark blue glass.

Pomona Sprout  
Herbology Professor  
Greatly Missed, Warmly Remembered

Neville doesn’t know how long he stares at it, but he jumps when Severus clears his throat in the doorway.

“The second greenhouse from the end will serve my purposes,” he says.

Neville nods. “That should be fine. I can help you—” He hiccups and covers his mouth with his hand. “Excuse—” His voice cracks. He stares at the ground and watches his tears fall onto the stone floor. “I found her,” he whispers. “She wasn’t ten feet from here, protecting the plants from them…” Neville looks at the plaque, at the solid, square font used to memorialize the only professor who never seemed fearful he was going to cause mass destruction. “And I was on the other side of the grounds pretending to be a war hero.”

“You are a war hero,” Severus says firmly. “You did not plan to be, and you certainly showed no aptitude for it when you arrived here, but you are now a war hero.”

“I don’t want to be,” Neville can’t swallow the sob that comes up, and he presses his hands against the greenhouse wall to keep from crumpling to his knees. “My mum and dad, they’re war heroes. Harry and Ron and Hermione, everyone in the Order. You—”

“I am nowhere close,” Severus cuts in. “I survived.” He steps forward and touches Neville’s shoulder. “And you can decide to do the same, or you can wallow.”

“I miss…” Neville looks at Severus, and they stare at one another for a long, quiet moment. “I miss.”

“Everyone does,” Severus tells him. “You are not unique there.”

“Thank Merlin,” Neville breathes out. He watches Severus watch him. He looks at Severus’s hand, still on his shoulder, and then he steps forward, tilts his head, and kisses Severus on the mouth. He’s terrified in the moment before Severus kisses him back, so lightly he almost misses it. “Miss,” Neville murmurs, and then Severus is pulling away.

“The second to last greenhouse in the row, Mr. Longbottom,” Severus says, voice firm, and then he’s gone.

Neville stands still and listens to Severus walk away, the click of his shoes on the stone path that leads to the greenhouses slowly fading away. He looks around the greenhouse—his classroom—and removes his robe. He hangs it on a hook by the door and rolls up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. There’s work to be done, he thinks, and no one else to do it. He starts potting Mandrakes.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione sits to his left at lunch. Grace sits to his right. Nomos, after giving him a rather cold look, sits at the other end of the table. “What was that?” Hermione asks, and before Neville can explain, Grace tells Hermione about that morning’s breakfast.

“You just let Professor Snape sneak up on him?” Hermione asks Neville, looking slightly shocked.

“Yes,” Neville says, trying not to sound defensive.

Hermione smiles. “Good. That kind of rudeness is just inexcusable. Can you imagine if he starts talking like that around the students? I’m going to talk to Minerva about making sure everyone has their facts straight before the term starts. Professor Snape’s been through more than enough without people with half the truth trying to make him sound bad.” She gets up and walks down the table to sit next to Minerva.

Neville watches her go and smiles to himself. “Should be fixed in about five minutes,” he tells Grace. “Four-and-a-half if Hermione’s really trying.”

Grace looks a bit poleaxed. “Is she always so…determined?”

“Who are we talking about?” A gangly man with a smooth bald head sits in Hermione’s seat and looks down the table. “Ah, Professor Granger. I’m not surprised.”

Neville blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, we haven’t—”

“Eugene Hilbert. I’m teaching Arithmancy.” Eugene gives Neville’s hand a shake that nearly rattles his teeth. “You’re Neville Longbottom for Herbology, right?”

“Y-yes.” Neville stutters. “You’ve met H-Hermione?”

“We walked the lawn last night. She’s got a hell of a head on her shoulders.” Hilbert looks down the table again. “You know her, don’t you?”

“We w-went to school together,” Neville tells him. He breathes in deeply through his nose and lets it out in a sigh of air.

Hilbert cocks his head. “You all right, mate?”

“I…um…you have a lot of energy,” Neville says and wants to bite off his tongue.

“Been told that a few times.” Hilbert grins. Neville is suddenly very strongly reminded of the Weasley twins, and he’s incredibly grateful that Grace asks Hilbert a question so that he has a moment to compose himself.

“…she’s Muggle-born,” Hilbert is telling Grace, “That’s one of the reasons Minerva wanted her for Muggle Studies. I think she’d be pretty good at just about anything, though.” Hilbert looks at Neville. “Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

“I d-don’t know,” Neville takes a long drink of his pumpkin juice and slowly counts to five in his head. “You’d have to check with her.”

“She’s very smart,” Hilbert says. “I like that.”

“I’m very smart,” Grace says, and she bats her eyelashes theatrically.

Neville can’t breathe, and he stands up from the table, planning to get away.

“Neville!” Minerva calls from the other end of the table. “Could you join Hermione and me for a moment?”

No, Neville thinks, I really can’t, but his feet move before his mouth, and he finds himself sitting to Minerva’s left. “Y-yes?” he asks, trying to calm his frantically beating heart.

Minerva looks at him closely. “Are you feeling well, Neville?”

“Memories,” Neville says flatly, and he sees, in the tightening of Minerva’s mouth, that she understands.

“Hermione was telling me about your conversation with Professor Nomos this morning, and I think we should have a staff meeting before the term starts to speak about the war, and who was on which side. Hermione’s already offered to run the meeting, and I was hoping you would act as her second. I would be mediating, as I feel it would be best to been seen as unbiased as possible for such a conversation.”

Neville considers his options. He’d much rather not sit in a room and talk about what he did during the war, but he understands what Hermione’s trying to do, making sure everyone starts the term with the right information. “What about Severus?” he asks after a moment. “We’re doing this for his benefit, partly. He should be allowed to decide if he wants us to do it at all.”

“He wouldn’t want—” Hermione presses her lips shut. “Wait. Sorry. It’s Professor Snape. The scarier he can seem on the first day, the happier it will probably make him.”

Minerva smirks. “I will speak with him this afternoon.” She nods when Hermione stands up to go back to her original seat. Her hand presses against Neville’s arm before he can get up. “How are you?” she asks quietly.

Neville stares at the table. “Hilbert reminds me of Fred and George,” he says after a moment.

“I thought the same thing,” Minerva confides. She squeezes Neville’s arm softly. “Thank you for coming to teach. I wasn’t certain you would be receptive.”

I’m not sure I am, Neville thinks. “I saw Professor Sprout’s memorial,” he says.

“I thought about planting a tree.”

“No,” Neville shakes his head. “I think she’d have preferred—” He swallows hard. “I think it’s just right.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.” Minerva lifts her hand and straightens her spectacles. “I’ll let you get back to lunch.”

Hermione’s in his chair when he gets to the other end of the table. He waves at her to keep the seat and settles on the other side of Grace. Neville listens to the three of them talk as he finishes his lunch. He thinks about his first few weeks at school, sitting in whatever chair he could find, hoping someone would say something to him.

“Hermione says you have embarrassing stories about her.” Hilbert says, leaning forward on the table to see Neville around Hermione and Grace.

Neville looks at Hermione. Her head is in her hands, and her face is bright red. “A few, maybe,” he says. “But she’s probably got more about me.”

“Tell one!” Grace demands. “Then she can tell one on you, and then Eugene and I can embarrass ourselves.”

Eugene shrugs. “I’m game. What’s a little embarrassment amongst co-workers?”

“Okay,” Neville agrees. “Hermione can go first.”

“Why me?” Hermione asks, the question muffled by her hands and her laughter.

“Because it’s funny to watch you try and keep a straight face,” Hilbert says. “You’re very red.”

“Thank you,” Hermione laughs. “That’s very helpful.”

Neville smiles at the three of them and leans back in his chair. He watches Hermione compose herself with a few deep breaths and wishes he felt as light as her laughter makes her sound.

*

_The Great Hall was still standing. Neville stood in the middle of the room, turned a slow circle, and tried to figure out how. The left tower was rubble, and the roof of the Astronomy Tower had impaled seven people. Neville looked at the ceiling. The sky outside still showed through, but there were swathes of magic running through it, cutting into the illusion._

_“There you are,” McGonagall said as she cut across the room. Her wand was out, her eyes darted, and Neville wondered what she was seeing. “They’re returning.”_

_“Who?” Neville asked and knew as soon as he asked. “Which ones?”_

_“We don’t have a list, sadly,” McGonagall shook her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We know who we’ve killed, and we know who we’ve captured, but there are still—”_

_“When will they get here?” Neville heard his grandmother in his head, scolding him about interrupting his elders._

_“We have twenty minutes, at most.”_

_“Where are the others?”_

_“On the lawn.”_

_With the bodies, Neville thought, and swallowed down the bile in his throat. “Let’s go.”_

_“Neville—”_

_“Harry’s not here, Professor.” Neville turned his sword in his hand and watched the jewels catch the light. “Hermione and Ron are gone. Professor Lupin and Tonks are dead. Fred Weasley is dead.” He looked at McGonagall, then back at his sword. “I wouldn’t be here if Harry had been born first.”_

_“Neville—”_

_“But I’m the only one here.”_

_“I’m sorry,” McGonagall whispered, and she turned her head to wipe her cheeks. “If I could—”_

_“But you can’t.” Neville looked up at the ceiling again. “It’s only me.”_

_“Thank you.”_

*

Neville plants rosemary and sage and lavender after lunch. He walks the path that loops around the greenhouses and checks them all for structural integrity. The lake is rippling slightly when he sits next to it, and Neville stares into it, wondering if the squid is down there, whether it’s alive. He hears a rustle and turns, smiling when Hermione sits next to him. “Hullo.”

“Hi.” She picks a blade of grass and pulls it apart down its seam. “Are you okay?” she asks after a pause.

“I’m fine,” Neville answers automatically.

“Nev.” She looks at him with the same worry in her eyes she had during their first year. “Something’s not right about you.”

“I get that a lot,” Neville tries to smile, but Hermione looks so concerned he can’t quite make his mouth work. “It’s not—”

“It’s something,” she insists. “I know it is.” Another blade of grass gets split down its seam. “What do wizards do after a war?” she asks.

Neville blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“After a war, what do you do? Do you talk to anyone?”

“About what?”

Hermione sighs so heavily that Neville almost feels the weight of it. “About what happened. About…what you lost.”

“Why would you…” Neville shakes his head. “There’s no reason to talk about those things.”

“It could help. Muggles do it. It helps them, sometimes, to talk about what happens during a war.”

I’m not a Muggle, Neville thinks; I was almost a squib. He stares out at the lake. “It’s hard enough remembering, ‘Mione. Talking about it would make it hurt more.”

“Maybe not.”

They don’t say anything for a few minutes. Hermione sheds grass; Neville tries not to see the shine of blood he knows, rationally, is no longer on the water. “Where did you go?”

Hermione lifts her head. “What?”

“When Pro—Minerva sent you with the Portkey, where did you go?”

“We landed in Egypt. Ron’s brother Bill knew some people there. We were there for three weeks, and then we moved. Where were you?”

Here, Neville thinks. “Not in Egypt.” It comes out harder than he means it to.

Hermione stands and brushes the grass from her robes. “I won’t apologize for where I was,” she says sharply. “And you should talk about it.” She walks away stiffly, shoulders held tight, and Neville almost calls after her to wait.

There’s a splash in the water, and Neville scoots away from the edge of the lake as one giant tentacle breaks the water. It hangs in the air for a moment, and Neville sees a long, ragged scar running along the length. It would be easier, he thinks, if he had any outward proof of what he’d done, what he’d been through.

*

Three days before the term starts, Minerva calls a meeting in the staff common room and explains that they will all be speaking about what they did during the war. “There have been a few misconceptions,” she says and doesn’t look at Nomos, who has apologized to Neville and attempted to apologize to Severus. “And Hermione and Neville thought it would be useful to everyone to have the same information before our students start to ask the especially probing questions.” Minerva steps aside and nods at Hermione and Neville to take charge of the room.

“Hullo,” Hermione says and gives a little wave. “Neville and I have been debating how to handle this, and we thought it’d be best to take it one at a time.”

It’s a lie, actually. They’ve barely spoken since the afternoon at the lake. Hermione’s tried to start conversations and include him at meals, but Neville hides away in the greenhouses or in his rooms and has to convince himself every night not to pack his things and go.

“I was with Harry Potter during the war,” Hermione says in a clear, even voice that pulls Neville out of his head and makes him pay attention. “He and Ron Weasley and I were travelling and searching for the Horcruxes for most of what would have been our seventh year, and then, of course, there was the fight.” Hermione pauses and takes a deep breath, and Neville watches how quickly she blinks. “And then that was over rather too quickly, and we were on the run again.”

“Hogsmeade.” Hilbert announces with a quiver on the ‘d’. “Grew up just outside there, and I spent most of the war acting as a sentry.”

“What about the rest of it?” Nomos asks from his seat at the front.

“Cried a lot,” Hilbert admits.

Grace stands up from her chair to talk. “I was in Dublin,” she speaks in nearly a whisper. “My parents tried to keep me away from it all, but it came to us eventually.” She looks around the room, and Neville starts in surprise when she gives him a watery smile. “After that, I joined up with a squad from the Ministry, and we spent the war chasing the trails.”

Hermione looks at him, and it takes Neville a moment to realize he’s supposed to say something. “I was…” He looks at Minerva. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and he can see the bright white of her knuckles. “I was at the Battle of Hogwarts. And I stayed here awhile. There was more than one attack.” He feels Hermione shift next to him and wonders if she knew that before. “I was here with M-Minerva, and we fought them off.” Neville tries to smile at Minerva, but he thinks the smile she gives him is more convincing. “And that’s it.”

“Neville understates it,” Minerva says with a trace of amusement. It makes everyone in the room laugh a bit nervously. “But we did fight them off.” She looks to a corner of the room, where Severus sits in a high-back chair. “Neville and Severus and I organized the fighting here. And when that was over, I started rebuilding efforts.”

Everyone turns and looks at Severus. He raises an eyebrow imperiously. “I’ve nothing to add,” he states flatly.

It’s tempting to override him, Neville thinks. He wants to list off everything he knows Severus did for the war. Not just at Hogwarts, not just as a spy, but as a man in a flat in the middle of London, grumbling about dishes and Neville’s disorganized bookshelf.

“I provided a place to sleep,” Nomos says before Neville can find his courage. “I was teaching at a Muggle college when the war broke, and I offered my spare bedroom to anyone who needed a rest. I heard a great deal, but I experienced very little.”

“I don’t think anyone here thinks that,” Hermione tells him with a comforting smile. “Everyone’s experience is different for this. That’s why I wanted everyone to have a chance to speak.” She steps forward and shakes Nomos’s hand. “Thank you, for what you did.” Her smile spans the room. “And everyone else here. Thank you. I think it’s important for us to remember that we’re all connected by this, even if our experiences are different. The war affected us all.”

Neville can’t look at her when she turns to look at him. Another of the staff stands up to speak, and he doesn’t hear a word. He’s watching Severus sit in his high-back chair and look completely unaffected.

How, he wonders, but he’s been wondering it for years, and asking aloud has never led to an answer that makes any of it make any sense. Neville sits in a chair and rests his head in his hands as the stories turn from factual to anecdotal. Someone puts a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to find Minerva smiling down at him.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“Everyone else was sharing,” he tells her, and his voice is rough. He watches her gaze slide across the room and knows by the way her hand tightens on his shoulder that Severus has left the room. “Almost everyone,” he amends, and they share a knowing look. Neville stands and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m going…” He trails off and gives a shrug. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says to Minerva.

Severus is cutting across the entryway and down the stairs by the time Neville catches up with him. “Severus!” Neville calls, and speeds to a near-run.

“Useless,” Severus mutters just loud enough that it carries back to Neville. “Ridiculous emotional uselessness,” he clarifies as he stops next to Dumbledore’s memorial and pushes out a breath that almost sounds like a yell. He turns on his heel as Neville reaches him, and their noses nearly collide.

“Are you—” Neville starts to ask, but Severus grabs his face and reels him in, and they’re kissing, Neville’s hands squeezing Severus’s wrists, and Severus grazing Neville’s bottom lip with his teeth as he changes the angle of his head.

This, Neville thinks. This. He kisses back, unclenching one of his hands so he can grab a handful of Severus’s robe and pull him in closer. It knocks them off-balance, and they stumble for a moment before falling to the ground.

“Ow,” Neville gasps when he hits his head on a rock.

“You’ll live,” Severus growls, and then he’s kissing Neville again, hands sliding down Neville’s face, one cupping his neck, the other pressing hard against his chest.

“Why—” Neville gets out when Severus pulls away for a moment. “You had—” he begins before Severus kisses him again. “Time,” Neville whispers when Severus lets him breathe again. “You had time.”

*

Hermione is waiting for him outside his door when he gets back inside. Neville wishes there were a mirror nearby so he could see how he looks, but there are only smooth stones and shiny suits of armor, and he wishes he could wear one as she greets him.

“You’re a mess,” Hermione says and brushes grass and dirt off the sleeve of his robe. “What were you doing; rolling around on the lawn?”

Close enough, Neville thinks. “Do you need something?” he asks.

“I wanted to apologize,” Hermione tucks her hands into the sleeves of her robes. “I should have come and talk to you earlier, but I thought you were just being stubborn. I…I didn’t know you were here for the other battles, and I thought you were acting funny—”

“It’s okay,” Neville interrupts her. “I didn’t think I was that brave, either.”

“Neville!” Hermione scolds. “I’ve always thought you were brave!”

She has, Neville knows, but he’s never quite had the same conviction on the matter. “Someone had to stay,” he says quietly. “And you had to protect Harry.”

“Oh, Neville—”

“Please don’t,” he says softly. “I don’t think,” he breathes in deep and closes his eyes. “I just can’t.”

“I’ll go, then,” Hermione responds. “Good night, Neville.”

“Night.” He keeps his eyes closed until he hears her walk away. When he opens them, all he can see are the memories. Not ten feet from this door, he remembers, he performed Crucio on two Death Eaters and watched them crumple to the floor in screaming agony. If he hadn’t needed to get by them, he thinks, he might have killed them. It makes his stomach twist, and Neville steps into his room and conjures a cup of chamomile tea.

*

_“They’re coming for you,” Minerva said to Severus. “They want your head.”_

_Severus rolled his eyes and looked, to Neville, much more annoyed than terrified. “Of course.” He crossed his arms and gave Minerva a blank look. “And?”_

_“And they don’t get it,” Minerva replied, and Neville couldn’t figure out why she was smiling. “You daft bastard,” she added._

_“They’ll stop attacking,” Neville said before he could stop it. He looked at Severus, ready to apologize, and the smile on Severus’s face threw him off so badly he took a step backwards. “I didn’t—”_

_“You did,” Severus corrected. “And he’s right,” he says to Minerva. “For once.”_

_“A point for Gryffindor?” Neville asked and bit his tongue in surprise when he realized he’d said it._

_“No,” Minerva answered him. “But how about a change of scenery?”_

_Neville didn’t look around. “What?”_

_“We need Severus,” Minerva explained slowly, and Neville found he was too exhausted to find it insulting. “Which means Severus will have to hide, and I’d prefer not to send him out there alone.”_

_“I can survive on my own, Minerva,” Severus said sharply._

_“There’s not a slimier, sneakier bastard than you, Severus,” Minerva agreed with a nod, “But there’s something to be said for strength in numbers.”_

_Neville blinked when they both looked at him. “What?” He asked. “I don’t—”_

_“You’ll travel with Severus,” Minerva told him. “The Order can set up the two of you somewhere more secure, and it will allow, hopefully, for Hogwarts to be less of a target.”_

_Like it matters now, Neville thought, and stepped to his left as the wall next to him shuddered and crumbled a little bit more. “When do we leave?”_

*

Hermione sits next to him at the opening feast. When the first Gryffindor is sorted, she grips his hand, and Neville squeezes back. He looks down the table at Severus when the first Slytherin is sorted. Severus looks unimpressed, but he straightens his shoulders, and Neville feels himself smiling.

*

“I am Professor Longbottom and this is Herbology,” Neville says the next day as he surveys his first class. There are butterflies in his stomach, and he feels slightly light-headed as fifteen pairs of eyes watch him with something neighboring awe. “Today, we’ll be working with mandrakes. Can anyone tell me the uses of the mandrake plant?” He’s met with silence, and Neville feels his nerves ratchet up. “Mandrake root is used for restorative potions,” he finally says into the silence.

“Professor?” A boy near the back raises his hand.

“Yes…” Neville tries to remember the boy’s name. “You,” he finally says with a wave.

“Did you really kill a giant snake with the Gryffindor sword?”

The butterflies turn to bats, and his light-headedness causes spots in front of his eyes. “This is Herbology, not History of Magic,” he snaps, but his stomach is still rolling. The entire class looks shocked, and Neville wants to apologize. “Does anyone have questions relating to Herbology?”

The class is completely silent.

“Make certain that your earmuffs fully cover both ears,” He continues. “A baby Mandrake’s cry can knock you unconscious, and a full-grown Mandrake can kill you. Am I understood?” Neville watches them nod. “Very good.”

*

Hermione sits next to him in the staff common room and gives him a puzzled look. “The Hufflepuffs were whispering about you being mean this morning,” she tells him.

Sitting next to Hermione, a cup of tea on the table next to him, Neville suddenly feels embarrassed. “They asked about Nagini,” he says.

“Oh.” Hermione is quiet for a full minute as she shuffles her papers and takes a sip of her tea. “If it helps, I think they’re still more terrified of Severus.”

Neville glances across the room where Severus is sitting alone at a table, scowling at a length of parchment. “I’m no match,” he agrees, and Hermione chuckles lightly. He looks at her, and she’s watching him with only a small spark of concern in her eyes. “Yes?” he asks, because knowing his students are scared of him, even a little, makes him hurt a little.

“Where were you after Hogwarts?”

“During the war, you mean?”

Exasperation flickers across her face. “Of course.”

“Spent some time in London.”

“Doing what?”

“Shadowy stuff for the Order.”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “I’m not sure I don’t completely disbelieve you,” she admits after a few seconds.

“I’m not sure I completely disbelieve myself,” Neville confides. He sighs deeply and scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“For what?”

“Being difficult, I guess. I know you’re trying to help, and I know the students don’t mean anything, but the war…” He looks across the room at Severus again. “I feel like I can’t explain it. There’s so much I’m not sure I’m remembering right.”

“How much time did you spend with Severus?” She asks quietly. She shrugs when Neville’s eyes widen in surprise. “Lucky guess. I did a great deal of research for Minerva while we were tucked away. That’s how I broke the habit of calling her ‘Professor’.”

“We didn’t work together,” Neville says. “But we shared…space.” He stands up before Hermione can answer and walks across the room. Severus doesn’t look up until Neville sits across from him.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Longbottom?” He sounds bored.

Neville opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He licks his lips and presses them together and watches Severus softly tap his fingers on the tabletop. “Had a burst of courage,” he manages to say.

Severus’s left eyebrow rises. “Oh?” His fingers stop tapping. He picks up his quill. “And is it still there?”

“No, not really, Sir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, Sir.” Neville’s tempted to clamp a hand over his mouth when Severus levels a blank stare at him.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Severus replies, face completely unreadable, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to shoot you.”

Neville laughs, a low-pitched reverberation he doesn’t quite recognize, and it takes him a moment to realize what the noise actually is. He presses a hand against his mouth and tries to calm down.

“What’s the joke?” Nomos asks as he passes them to pour a fresh cup of tea.

“Nothing,” Severus says, eyes on his parchment.

It makes Neville laugh harder. Nomos raises his eyebrows. “Something’s the joke.”

Neville silently counts to ten and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Do you like cheese, Walter?” He asks. There’s a twitch at the edge of Severus’s mouth, and it’s enough to send Neville into fits again.

Nomos looks over at Hermione. “Do you have any idea?”

“Not a clue,” Hermione answers. “But I feel like I should.”

“At least I’m not alone then,” Nomos replies as he fills his teacup.

*

“I give Miss Granger a day before she puts it together,” Severus says when Neville opens his door that night. “And then you’ll have questions to answer.”

Neville steps aside to let Severus in and shrugs. “I can explain it.”

“With the truth?”

Of course not, Neville thinks. “With something.” He offers the chair against the wall to Severus and sits across from him. Having his back to the door makes his shoulder blades tingle.

“You’ll tell everything eventually,” Severus declares.

“I’m not against telling everything,” Neville tells him. “I just don’t know how to explain it all. I look around here…” He looks around the room. “Does it bother you that you can’t tell anything happened here? I keep looking for some sign of it, and everything just looks so solid and…” Neville’s voice drops into a whisper. “I just want proof.”

“Of what?” Severus asks quietly.

“Any of it. Some proof that we were here. And that there was a battle. And that…that we nearly lost.”

“Your hand isn’t proof enough?”

Neville glances down at his hands. “What do you mean?” He looks up, and his stomach clenches when he realizes Severus looks surprised. “What?” It’s more of a bark than a word, and Neville jumps at the sound of it. “Why do you—”

“Your hand,” Severus says fiercely. “Look at your left hand.”

It’s just a hand, Neville thinks, and he inspects it carefully. The back is smooth. There’s some dirt on his hands from transferring the lavender plants that afternoon, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. His fingernails are slightly ragged, and there’s a thorn scratch on his thumb, but it still just looks like a hand.

“Turn your hand over,” Severus instructs.

His palm is smooth. “What?” He asks. He looks at Severus, impatience pushing out his curiosity. “There’s nothing—”

Severus stands up and stalks over to him, presses his thumb directly in the center of his left palm, and Neville cries out as pain radiates up his arm. “What are you—” Neville yanks his hand away and rubs his palm. “That hurt!” He looks down, wondering what Severus did. There’s a jagged scar running from the center of his palm to an inch below his elbow. Neville stares at it. He flexes his hand and winces as the pain shoots up his arm again. “What…” He looks at Severus, terror climbing up his throat. “Where did that come from?”

*

_The Order found them a flat in the middle of London. It had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a dining area big enough for Severus to set up his potions. There was also a huge television and a wall full of DVDs. The owner of the flat was a Muggle-born wizard who had joined in the fighting. He’d left detailed, animated notes of how to work the DVD player, and they’d spent the first day sitting on the bright blue couch watching something called “Monty Python’s Flying Circus”._

_The second day, Severus rose early, went to the shops, and came back with herbs and a huge cooking pot. “I have to work,” he told Neville, and Neville stayed out of the dining area as Severus set up and began to brew healing potions._

_On the third day, Neville ventured out to a small plant nursery and carefully selected a dozen plants so that they could grow ingredients at the flat, rather than having to go out._

_On the third night, they sat down and watched more “Monty Python”._

_“This is imbecilic,” Severus declared as the man on-screen banged a dead parrot against a counter._

_“I’m not keeping you from brewing,” Neville snapped._

_There was a moment of silence between them. “Was that backbone, Mr. Longbottom?” Severus asked._

_“I don’t think it’s going away,” Neville told him and felt strangely relaxed. “I’ve used it too much this year.”_

_“Hmm,” is all Severus said as he stood up. “Call me in if the Spanish Inquisition shows up.”_

_“How can I?” Neville asked, feeling slightly giddy. “No one expects it.”_

*

“I remember that,” Neville says, and the hysterical edge in his voice makes his whole body shake. “I remember all of that. I’m asking about this!” He jabs his finger into the center of his palm, and his left hand closes involuntarily as he hisses with pain. “How—”

“Your lack of memory is disturbing,” Severus says slowly.

“You think so?” Neville jumps to his feet and nearly pushes Severus over. “I’m terribly sorry it bothers you, Severus! I’d hate to think you were—” He falls to his knees and stares at his hand. “What else did I do?” Neville whispers. Even trailing his fingers lightly down the scar makes pain flare. “What else?” He looks at Severus again, tears running down his face. “Severus.”

“Chin up,” Severus says and reaches down to haul Neville to his feet. He pushes him back into his chair and walks over to the teapot. “Hysteria—”

“Tell me,” Neville hisses, and he barely recognizes his own voice.

“I will not.” Severus carries over a cup of tea and hands it to Neville. “If you don’t recall it, there is a reason.”

“But you know!”

Severus sighs heavily. “Yes,” he admits. He lifts Neville’s right hand and curls it around the teacup. “Drink it,” he orders.

“I want—”

“Calm yourself, and I will consider it.”

Neville sips his tea. “I thought I couldn’t forget anything,” he says quietly. “All I’ve wanted this whole time—”

“Finish your tea,” Severus instructs him.

Neville gulps the rest of it, feeling defiant and tired and horribly confused. “How could I,” he pauses. “I sound…” his eyelids droop, and then there’s blackness.

*

_They were there a week before Neville realized why he felt slightly out of sorts. “You’ve been nice,” he said to Severus as they sat down to lunch._

_Severus gave him a withering look as he cut his sandwich into two precise triangles. “What?” He asked archly._

_“You’ve been nice,” Neville repeated. “I keep expecting you to yell at me.”_

_“Act like an idiot, and I will yell at you,” Severus promised._

_“You yelled at everyone at school.”_

_“Everyone at school is an idiot.”_

_Neville frowned at that. “Even Professor McGonagall?”_

_“Do you recall me ever yelling at Minerva, Mr. Longbottom?”_

_He thought back. “No,” he said after a moment. “So everyone but Professor McGonagall was an idiot?”_

_“Close enough.”_

_“But I’m not being an idiot right now?”_

_“Right now, no.” Severus took a bite of his sandwich. “But I am certain you’ll remember how by the end of lunch.”_

_Neville bit into his own sandwich rather than respond. No reason to get an early start, he thought, and it made him smile a little. “A question,” he said._

_“If you must.”_

_“What did I do that wasn’t idiotic?”_

_“You killed that damned snake.”_

_“That’s it?”_

_“It was your first act of non-idiocy. I shall reserve the rest for other instances where you require such useless information.”_

*  
Neville wakes up in his bed. It’s dark outside his window, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. There’s a silhouette sitting at the end of his bed. “Bastard,” he says.

“It was necessary. Had you continued, I would have had to include Minerva in this conversation.”

“What does she have to do with this?” Neville squints when Severus shifts. He reaches for his wand. “Lumos.” He looks at Severus’s face in the dim light. “How?”

“You sustained your injury during the second wave of the battle, when the Death Eaters returned the first time.”

“I don’t—”

“You screamed when it happened and seemed not to remember it at all when we bandaged it.”

Neville looks down at his arm. “It was for grip,” he explains. “I tore off some of my robe and tied it to my hand so I could hold the sword more easily.”

“Those were scraps of Minerva’s robe.”

“But…we…” Neville stares at his hand. “Minerva sent us away because of me,” he says and wishes it were a question.

“Partly,” Severus confirms. “I was to be hidden away no matter.”

“That first day, you didn’t brew. You were…” Neville meets Severus eyes. “You were babysitting.”

“I was—”

“Poor little Longbottom!” Neville shouts. “Parents ruined in the first war! His mind going in the second!”

“That is not—”

“And Severus Snape left to care for the invalid!” Neville throws off the covers and slices his wand through the air. All the candles in the room flare to life. “Left to brew in some Muggle-born’s flat and put up with poor, idiotic Neville Longbottom! The great war hero who can’t even remember his damned wound!”

“Neville—” Severus starts, tone sharp.

“That’s why you wouldn’t—” Neville feels like screaming. “Get out.” He demands.

Severus stares at him. “That wasn’t—”

“Out!” Neville yells. “Get out!” He turns away and stares at the flickering candles until he hears the outer door close. His scalp itches. His fingers tingle. His left arm throbs up to his elbow. Neville stares until his eyes burn, and there are warm, bright spots when he blinks his eyes.

He stalks into the sitting room, meaning to throw something. There’s quill and parchment on the desk. He writes a note:

_Why us?_

Neville sees no one as he makes his way to the West Tower, and it’s only after he sends the owl out of the window that he sees the height of the moon. It’s past midnight. He wonders if he was actually meant to wake before morning or if Severus had intentionally half-dosed him.

Can’t ask him now, Neville thinks as he walks down the stairs from the Owlery. He stops at the bottom of the steps and sits down hard. What to do, he wonders. It’s been bad enough before, and now there’s a whole nightmare he hasn’t be aware he’s had.

“Nev?”

Neville raises his head from his arms and feels a wave of relief when Hermione cocks her head and looks worried. “’Mione.”

“What are you doing up here?”

“Why are you here?” He asks, not sure how to answer her question.

“It’s my night on rounds.” Hermione sits next to Neville and looks at him closely in the half-light from the wall torches. “What’s happened?”

How she knows, Neville can’t begin to guess. He considers what to tell her, and ends up holding out his left hand. “Have you seen this before?”

Hermione blinks at his hand. “You mean your scar?”

“Y-yeah.”

“How could I miss—” Hermione cuts off with a gasp. “Oh,” she breathes out softly.

“I didn’t know,” Neville says just as softly. “I didn’t…” He stares at the shadows in the hallway. “I have all these memories I don’t want. Really awful stuff. But I thought it’d be okay. Only memories, right? Came out the other side of the war with my head still attached. But…” He flexes his left hand and watches the scar shift.

“Oh, Neville,” Hermione whispers, and she sounds like her first-year self, when she was so good-hearted but forever feeling sorry for him. “You really—”

“I don’t.”

Hermione leans against his arm and squeezes his bicep. “It’ll be okay.”

He remembers when she used to be able to say that and he’d believe her. He wishes he still could. “I was in London,” he says flatly. “I was hiding with Severus and growing herbs for his potions and watching DVDs about fish dances and silly walks, and it all seemed so ridiculous. To be there, with him of all people, and that’s what I did during the war.” Neville drops his hand to his knee. “And now I find out that even that isn’t what actually happened.”

“It is,” Hermione says fiercely. “It’s exactly what happened. There’s just more to it now.”

“I thought I was there to protect him. I thought…” Neville shakes his head and closes his eyes to stop the tears. “I thought I was the hero.”

“You were. You are.” Hermione insists.

“No,” Neville disagrees and stands up. “I’m not.” He walks away, down the stairs and through the corridor, and finally out of the front door of the castle. The front gate is locked and polished so brightly it shines a little in the moonlight. Neville remembers watching it fly off its hinges when the Death Eaters came back for the second battle. He remembers dodging individual spires as they flew at his head. He remembers turning them around mid-air and watching them impale Death Eaters.

Is that how it happened, he wonders and looks at his hand again. Was it something flying by and he didn’t feel it? Or did someone hold him down and slowly and carefully slice open his palm and the inside of his arm? So many details he can’t forget, and this won’t come to him at all.

He walks to the third greenhouse and pots Dittany and Bubotuber until dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re not sleeping,” Severus tells him two weeks later when they’re alone in the staff common room.

“I’m fine,” Neville says and tries not to rub his eyes. “I’ve been grading.” It’s true, Neville thinks, it’s just happening at two in the morning when he wakes from dreams he can’t remember.

Severus drops a vial into his lap as he passes by to leave the room. “For your grading,” he says quietly.

_Dreamless Sleep_, the label reads in Severus’s downward slanting script. Neville rolls the bottle between his palms and tries to will away the rush of emotion that flows up his spine. He’s still angry at Severus, but he’s always susceptible to kindness. It makes his stomach knot.

*

During third period the following Wednesday, Neville has to fight to keep his eyes open. He still can’t recall his dreams, but they feel darker somehow, and he gives a long yawn as he walks the class through a dissection of a Devil’s Snare vine. He turns to open the door wider, hoping the breeze will keep him more alert. When he turns back around, a Slytherin boy is wrapped knees to ankle in Devil’s Snare. The Ravenclaw girl responsible doesn’t even act apologetic. Her chin juts out when Neville tries to stare her down.

“He’s Slytherin.”

“He’s a student, same as you,” Neville responds and wonders if he should be pulling her outside to have this conversation.

“My dad says you can’t trust Slytherins.”

“Your dad’s wrong.” Neville looks around the room. “And if anyone else’s parents have said the same, they’re also wrong.”

“How do you know?” asks a boy in the back. He’s Slytherin, Neville knows, and his chin quivers when he tries to look brave.

“A Slytherin saved my life,” Neville says with emphasis. “And if you’d like to take it up with him, you’ll be in his class next period.”

*

“My students are talking about you,” Hilbert says as he sits next to Neville at dinner. “Rumor has it, Snape saved your life.”

Maybe, Neville thinks. He cuts into his roast beef and shrugs. “It ended a confrontation,” he explains. “It’s too early in the year for house rivalries to reach the point of hexes.”

Hilbert grins. “You’ve a point, but we don’t have Quidditch this year, so they’ll have to do something.”

“Halloween’s on the way,” Neville replies. “I’m sure something will go horrifically wrong.” Hilbert gives him a perturbed look. “Kidding,” Neville says.

“Didn’t sound it.”

Neville gives another shrug in response and doesn’t try to smooth it out. It’s too tiring, he thinks, to try and make Hilbert feel at ease. He didn’t ask him to sit there. He didn’t ask the Ravenclaw girl to wrap up the Slytherin boy. He didn’t ask to have his arm slowly, agonizingly pulled open by a Death Eater so that he would drop his sword.

“You all right, Nev?” Hilbert asks, and he sounds very far away.

Neville opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s there, suddenly. “Severus,” he mutters.

“No; Hilbert. You feeling well? You look—”

“Severus.” Neville says loudly.

“End of the table. Can’t miss him,” Hilbert points to Severus.

His legs are shaking. Neville stands anyway and grips the edge of the table. “I need to speak—”

“To Severus,” Hilbert finishes. He stands as well and puts a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Why don’t you sit—”

“I need to find my sword.”

“…Okay. But before you do that—”

“I will handle this, Mr. Hilbert,” Severus says from Neville’s left.

Neville looks at him. “My arm,” he says. He pulls back the sleeve of his robe. “I thought we’d fought them off. I thought—”

*

_“Quiet, Mr. Longbottom,” Severus said as he crouched next to Neville._

_“My arm!” Neville screamed, pressing his palm into his forearm to try and stop the blood. “He tried to—”_

_Severus pulled Neville’s hand away from his arm and pressed a ragged strip of cloth against the wound. “I need you to hold very still, Mr. Longbottom.”_

_“I feel ill,” Neville said. He felt calm, suddenly. “I think I might bleed to death.”_

_“It is hardly so dire,” Severus told him as he pressed his wand next to the wound. A ribbon of green light unwound into the air. “It was a separation spell. It is easy to fix.” He let go of the cloth on Neville’s arm to open the bag slung over his shoulder. “Hold the bandage, Mr. Longbottom.”_

_Neville lifted his hand obediently and pressed the cloth against his arm again. “I’m still bleeding.”_

_“That happens when you have a gaping wound, you idiot.”_

_It was reassuring, weirdly, to hear Severus insult him. “Do you think,” Neville asked as Severus unstoppered a vial, “that my parents will know I’m dead?”_

_“I do not answer moronic questions, Mr. Longbottom. I would have thought even that rudimentary rule would have sunk in by now.”_

*

“It was nobody,” Neville says as Severus pushes him into a chair in Severus’s sitting room. “I don’t even remember what he looked like. In my nightmares, it was always her.”

“Say her name,” Severus instructs as he pulls out two short glasses and a bottle of Fire Whiskey.

“Bellatrix,” Neville sighs. “It was always Bellatrix. She would come straight at me, and I could never stop her.” He takes the glass Severus hands him and sips from it carefully. “Did I ever…” He looks at Severus and doesn’t know how to phrase his question. “I remember waking you up,” he says instead. “You’d come in—”

“I remember,” Severus interrupts.

“You’d let me cry,” Neville continues. “I couldn’t remember my nightmares then, either.”

“Take what small mercies you can.”

Neville swirls the whiskey in his glass. “I’ve had enough of those, I think. My life’s full of them. I just want to know what happened—what really and truly happened—just once.”

“You doubt your entire memory due to one moment of its weakness?” Severus asks in a tone that clearly calls Neville an idiot.

“Gran never told me everything about my parents,” Neville explains. “And I only know about the prophecy because Harry told me. I don’t think Dumbledore ever would have mentioned it.”

“No,” Severus agrees, “he would not.”

“What happened?” Neville asks, looking up from his glass. “What actually happened?”

“You fought,” Severus says, “and you lived.”

“The boy who lived,” Neville practically spits out.

“The man who fought,” Severus counters.

“Tell me,” Neville insists quietly. “Please. I just—” A knock on the outer door interrupts him.

Severus stalks across the room and throws up his door. “Miss Granger,” he greets icily.

“Neville—”

“I’m fine,” Neville calls without turning around. He swallows back a sigh when Hermione sits across from him. “I’d much rather—”

“I don’t think Hilbert quite knows what to think of you, Nev,” Hermione says, and there’s amusement under her worry. “I think he’s convinced you’re taking the piss.”

“It’s complicated,” Neville tells her. “And I’d rather not—”

“I know,” Hermione gives a wave. “I just wanted to be certain you’re all right.”

Probably not, Neville thinks. “Severus is handling things,” he says.

Hermione raises her eyebrows at the glass in Neville’s hand. “I can see that.” She stands and squeezes Neville’s shoulder. “I’ll stay, if you want.”

“No,” Neville shakes his head and just manages not to flinch at the hurt in Hermione’s eyes. “I’ve got…”

“I understand,” Hermione says quietly. “I’ll be in my rooms if you want to talk.”

How many times, Neville wonders, has Hermione had to walk away from a friend she just wants to help. He wonders how often she looks at the letters from Ron and Harry and wants to send a Howler. “I’m sorry,” he tells her.

“None of that,” Hermione admonishes, and she walks around his chair, gives Severus a quiet goodnight, and lets herself out.

Neville watches Severus settle himself in the chair across from him. “Tell me,” he insists.

“The first Death Eaters that returned after Voldemort’s death were highly disorganized after Minerva saw fit to blow up a few of them.” Severus smirks at Neville’s dry chuckle. “It was a simple matter to break their ranks and send them running. Once they’d scattered, I sent you to the east lawn to check the dead for curses and information. I heard you scream and found you—”

“I remember that,” Neville tells him. “I remember you fixing my arm. I thought I was going to bleed out.”

“Yes,” Severus confirms. “I had just bound your arm when Minerva approached us about the captive Death Eaters. She pulled you away from them because your grip on the sword was causing blood to seep through the bandages. She re-bound your arm with the pieces of her robe.”

Neville sips his whiskey. “How long—”

“I wanted to send you away after a day. Minerva held out. You were necessary for morale.”

“Someone else—”

“No,” Severus says flatly. “You were screaming in agony as your arm was being dissected, and you did not let go of the sword. No one else there could have done that.”

“I…I didn’t let go?”

“No.”

Neville thinks about the agony he remembers now. He couldn’t feel anything outside of the pain on his arm. He’d been convinced that he could feel the individual blood vessels in his arm being slowly pulled apart. “I didn’t let go.” He states.

“Precisely.”

“Why would I forget that?”

Severus gives him a long, measured look. “I’ve no idea.”

“Maybe…” Neville shakes his head. “There’s so many terrible things that I’ve been hoping to forget,” he starts again. “And that…this.” He looks at the scar on his arm again. “Out of everything.”

“Your parents lost their sanity to _crucio_. They’d been trained, extensively, to fight that curse.”

“What does that—”

“They were defeated by basic cruelty.”

Neville squints at Severus. “They were defeated because Bellatrix LeStrange tortured them to insanity,” he says sharply.

“Cruelty,” Severus says. “Unimaginable cruelty; the type that leads one person to gleefully torture another. Cruelty that causes a man to methodically tear open another man’s arm when a simple jelly-hand jinx would more easily cause the sword to fall from your grasp.”

“You’re saying…what are you saying?”

“Even war heroes have blind spots,” Severus explains. “Yours is compassion, as it was for your parents. You can understand people doing terrible things because they convince themselves to do so out of misleading information and self-pity, but none of you has the stomach to fully comprehend that some people do cruel things for the sport of it.”

“I forgot because I don’t want to admit that some people are complete bastards.” Neville shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense. I knew that.”

“Are you certain?”

“There was nothing good in Bellatrix,” Neville says shortly. “I’ve always known that.”

“Second hand,” Severus dismisses. “You saw the aftereffects of her work, but not the act itself.”

“That doesn’t make the after effects any less terrible,” Neville snaps.

“No,” Severus agrees, “but it does leave a gap in understanding. You know that Bellatrix was a terrible person. You know that her acts left your parents without any sense at all. But you did not see it.”

Neville clenches his hand around his glass. “I don’t have to see it to know it was terrible.”

“What was her excuse?” Severus asks. “When you laid in bed after visiting your parents and tried to understand it, what did you imagine?”

Voldemort, Neville thinks. “I thought…I thought she was—”

“She was answering to nothing but her own base urges,” Severus tells him. “She enjoyed it.”

“Why?” Neville asks, and he grimaces at the crack in his voice.

“Because cruelty is easy.”

*

_They’d been at the flat for nearly two months before Minerva showed up and asked to speak to Severus alone. Neville watered the plants and wondered if any of Severus’s potions needed stirring. Minerva and Severus walked into the kitchen before Neville could work up the nerve to actually touch one of the soup pots._

_“Bottle the healing potion,” Severus ordered him as he pointed to the pot on the back left burner. “The tracking potion will need to be stirred once an hour for the next four hours, and the—”_

_“Where are you going?” Neville interrupted._

_“Away.” Severus replied._

_“I am in need of Severus’s services elsewhere,” Minerva explained._

_“Don’t we have other brewers?”_

_“Minerva does not require my brewing expertise,” Severus said quietly._

_It took a moment for Neville to understand what wasn’t being said. “You’re—”_

_“If I do not return within the day, owl St. Mungo’s for assistance.”_

_“Why do you need healing potion?”_

_The silence that answered him painted a clearer picture than Neville had actually wanted. “I can help.”_

_“You’ve done more than enough,” Minerva told him with a small smile. “And someone needs to look after the potions.”_

_“What if I ruin something?” Neville asked Severus._

_“It will explode,” Severus said. “And you will be deceased.”_

_“Nah, I’ll just be resting.”_

_Minerva raised her eyebrows at the both of them. “Should I know something?”_

_“It’s nothing,” Severus assured her. He took the bottled healing potion and gave Neville a sharp nod. “Every hour for the next four hours.”_

_“Chin up,” Neville replied._

*

Neville finishes his whiskey and watches the fire. “Were you nice to me at the flat because you thought I’d gone ’round the bend?”

“No,” Severus says quietly. “I treated you as a rational person because you behaved as one.”

“Did I?”

“Most of the time, yes.”

“What about…” Neville finds he can’t finish the question. He looks at Severus. “You kissed me goodbye once,” he says instead.

“Yes,” Severus acknowledges. “I was only mostly rational as well.”

“I wanted…I kept hoping it would happen again.” Neville mulls over the memory. “You wanted me to instigate it, didn’t you?”

“I did not want you to think you were obligated,” Severus tells him. “The rash impulse to kiss you goodbye—”

“You thought you were going to die,” Neville interrupts. “At least, that’s what I’ve always assumed.”

“It is close enough to the truth.”

*

_Severus left with Minerva at intervals Neville could never quite track. Sometimes he’d be gone for days, sometimes only hours, and once it was only minutes._

_“Where do you go?” Neville asked after an absence that lasted four days, catching Severus as he Apparated in and nearly collapsed._

_“It is not your concern,” Severus replied and allowed Neville to help him to a chair._

_“Are you injured?”_

_“No.”_

_“Do you want some tea?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Neville walked to the kettle and poured a cup of water. He took a bag of tea from the box in the cupboard, took the milk from the refrigerator, and placed all of them on the table in front of Severus. “Sandwich?”_

_“Yes.” Severus carefully lowered his tea bag into his cup. “I had to Apparate repeatedly,” he said to his cup._

_“Will they—” Neville cleared his throat and wrapped his fingers tightly around the mustard jar. “Can they follow?”_

_“They would be here already.”_

_“All right.” Neville nearly jumped out of his skin when the room reverberated with the **pop** of another Apparation. He turned, wand out before he thought about it, and let out a harsh breath when he registered McGonagall. “Is everything—”_

_“Severus,” MCGonagall said over Neville, “I’m so terribly—”_

_“Do I need to bring anything?” Severus asked as he stood._

_“No.” McGonagall pulled herself up straight and pushed back her shoulders. She gave a nod to Neville. “How—”_

_“Fine,” Neville interrupted. “Do you—”_

_“Yes,” Severus said before Neville could finish. “There is a war on.” He glanced at McGonagall. “The usual place?”_

_“Number six.”_

_“I will be there shortly.”_

_McGonagall stood very still for a moment, looking ready to argue. “Hurry, please.” She Apparated away._

_“What—” Neville was cut off when Severus leaned in and kissed him. It was slightly harsh; Severus’s mouth was off-center and his nose pressed against Neville’s cheek uncomfortably._

_“Keep watch,” Severus ordered as he pulled away. “This could—”_

_“I know,” Neville said. He reached to the potion rack and pressed a bottle into Severus’s palm. “I had to finish it without you.”_

_Severus eyed the bottle of Pepper-Up. “I distinctly recall you nearly blowing up my classroom making this once.”_

_“Best of luck,” Neville made himself smile when Severus gave him an unamused look._

_“Neville…” Severus shook his head and tucked the bottle into the pocket of his trousers. “Keep watch,” he said again and Apparated._

*

Neville watches Severus finish his whiskey. “If I kissed you right now, what would happen?”

“I would assume you hysterical.”

“Really?”

Severus stands up and carries his glass to the table with the whiskey. “You have been traumatized by what you experienced in the war. To the point that you forgot you were injured. Memories of your injuries are only now returning. To begin—”

Neville turns him around and kisses him. “I kissed you in the greenhouse,” he says, his mouth pressed against Severus’s cheek. “You kissed me on the lawn.”

“You were—”

Neville kisses him again and risks reaching for Severus’s hand. “Please.”

“You’re a fool,” Severus says, his fingers wrapping around Neville’s wrist. His mouth slides down Neville’s cheek, and he bites lightly at Neville’s neck. “I should send you away.”

“You won’t.” Neville presses his nose into Severus’s hair and sighs. “You didn’t before.”

“You were traumatized before.” Severus lets go of Neville’s wrist and laces their fingers together.

Neville pulls away to look Severus in the eyes. “I still am.” He says quietly.

“I know,” Severus responds just as quietly.

“Will it pass?” Neville asks before he can push it back.

“No.”

“Will it get better?”

Severus presses his palm against Neville’s. “I do not know.”

*

Every single one of Neville’s students look terrified when he collects their mid-term papers. “Everyone meet length requirement?” He smiles when they nod as a group. “Then you’ll do just fine.”

An hour later, sitting in the common room, he wishes he could take it back. “One of my Gryffindors thinks Screechsnap is related to Devil’s Snare.”

Hermione looks up from her own stack of student papers. “That’s not a terrible mistake. They both move, at least.”

“I spent an entire class period explaining the differences,” Neville sighs, rubbing his eyes. “A double class period, no less.”

“I recall you making numerous similar mistakes,” Severus interjects from across the table.

“In Potions,” Neville points out. “Not Herbology.”

“Oh, yes,” Severus draws out, “that makes all the difference.”

Neville presses his foot against Severus’s ankle under the table. “As I’m teaching Herbology, it does.”

“As I’m teaching Potions.” Severus replies.

“As I’m teaching Muggle Studies,” Hermione says as she tosses her supplies onto the table, “I’m going to win.” She sits down and holds up an essay. “I have a Hufflepuff who thinks Audrey Hepburn and Englebert Humperdinck are related.”

Neville sorts through his papers. “I’ve a Ravenclaw who wrote an entire paper on the pretty purple flowers that come out of Pufferpods.” He sighs at the blank look Hermione gives him. “They’re pink. Very, very pink.”

“I’ve had a Gryffindor and two Ravenclaws cause explosions in my classroom this week,” Severus says.

“Pulled a Neville, did they?” Hermione grins wickedly.

“At least it was not a Hermione,” Severus tells her.

“A Hermione?”

“Knows all the ingredients,” Neville explains, “but doesn’t quite have the quantities down yet.”

Hermione looks shocked for a moment before she laughs. “Is there a Potter?”

“Always,” Severus confirms. “And it always has a Weasley attached.”

“It’s symbiotic,” Hermione says. “The Potter sense of adventure feeds into the Weasley lack of sense.”

“You grossly underestimate the types, Miss Granger. They could each, individually, have both qualities.” Severus drawls.

Neville and Hermione collapse into a laughing fit. They’re still going a few seconds later when Grace and Nomos walk into the room.

“What’s so funny?” Nomos asks, eying the seat next to Severus and settling at the other end of the table.

“We’re taking cheap shots,” Hermione tells them between giggles. “Because the people we’re taking the shot at aren’t here to defend themselves.”

“Anyone we know?” Grace asks as she sits next to Hermione.

“Harry and Ron.”

Grace leans in. “You have embarrassing stories of Harry Potter, and you haven’t told me? That’s just rude!”

“It wouldn’t—”

“Potter made his decisions to be an idiot,” Severus interrupts Hermione’s protest. “And now you get to make the decision about how kind to be about it.”

Hermione gets a gleam in her eyes. “That’s very true.”

“Hermione,” Neville says, mildly apprehensive, “just remember what they know about you.”

“Oh,” Hermione waves her hand, “I’ve told all those.” She thinks for a moment and grins at Neville. “Remember the first day of Transfiguration?”

Neville can’t stop the grin that slides across his face. “Yes, I do.”

“What about Transfiguration?” Minerva asks as she walks into the room.

“We’re telling stories on Harry and Ron,” Hermione explains.

Minerva’s face lights up. “Let me get a fresh cuppa.” She lifts the teapot from the counter. “Anyone else?”

“I’ll get my own, thanks,” Neville stands and picks up his mug. He grabs Severus’s mug as well and fills them both. When he turns back to face the table, he sees Minerva standing behind his chair. “Go ahead,” he tells her. “I know you like that chair.”

“Thank you,” Minerva says and sits, the smile on her face widening as Hermione starts the story.

“…they run in, and they’re very proud of themselves, because they think they’ve beaten Minerva to the room—”

“They didn’t.” Grace interrupts.

Hermione shakes her head. “Even better than that.”

Neville walks around the table, sets Severus’s mug next to his stack of papers, and pulls out the chair next to him.

“…and then the cat jumps off the table and there’s Minerva. And Ron immediately…”

“Thank you,” Severus says as Hermione sends everyone else into a round of raucous laughter.

Neville smiles at him. “You’re welcome.”

“Tell another!” Grace demands as Hilbert walks in the room.

“Did I miss a meeting?” Hilbert asks as he takes a seat.

“No,” Minerva assures him. “The old hats are just reminiscing.”

“Hermione,” Neville says, “tell them what Fred and George put you through in fifth year.”

“Fred and George?” Nomos asks.

“Weasly’s Wizard Wheezes,” Neville explains. “They went here with us.”

“They tested their early work on the first-years when I was prefect,” Hermione tells Nomos.

“The number of things from that shop that I’ve confiscated,” Nomos says with a shake of his head. He leans into the table. “Tell me, do they accept Howlers at their shop?”

“His,” Neville corrects automatically. “Fred died in the war. It’s just George now.”

“And Percy,” Hermione says.

“Percy? Really?” Neville asks.

“Percy was always much more studious than his siblings,” Minerva explains at the confused looks from Grace, Nomos, and Hilbert. “He spent most of his time as a prefect trying to stop his brothers from getting into mischief.”

“It didn’t work?” Hilbert’s grin is knowing.

“Not even a little,” Hermione confirms.

“I can’t believe Percy…” Neville trails off and shakes his head.

“Stranger things have occurred,” Severus tells him.

Neville grins a little when Severus’s knee presses against his leg under the table. “I suppose.”

“Forget all these names,” Nomos says with a dismissive wave. “I just want to know how nasty of a letter I can actually get through to them.”

*

Neville wakes up and blinks away the tears at the corners of his eyes. He stares at the ceiling and listens to himself breathe. The nightmare is waiting for him, he knows. He wishes he could remember it. If he could remember it, he thinks, maybe he would get a full night's sleep.

He sits up in bed and looks across the room at his bookshelf. The bottle of Dreamless Sleep from Severus is sitting next to his gradebook. Neville gets out of bed and walks to the shelf. He rolls the bottle between his hands and considers his options. Taking the potion means sleeping, but Neville can't bring himself to do it. He's scared he'll wake up and realize he's forgotten everything, or just enough of everything to think that none of it happened.

Neville puts the bottle back on the shelf. He pulls on his dressing gown and finds his slippers. The hallway is quiet, save a few creaks and whispers between the portraits. Neville looks right, then left, and wonders when the silence in the castle became somewhat soothing. He walks left, down to the dungeons, and stops outisde of Severus's door.

Knock, he dares himself, and presses his hand against the door. There's a faint glow around the doorknob, and then the door swings open. Neville blinks. He takes a step inside, and the door closes behind him. "Huh," Neville says quietly. He looks around Severus's sitting room and walks to the bedroom. Severus is asleep on the left side of the bed, and Neville hesitates. Maybe, he thinks. But maybe not.

"Quit your internal nattering and get into bed," Severus mutters as he turns over. "I do not personalize my door locks for every idiot I meet."

"I wouldn't think so," Neville drapes his dressing gown over one of the bed posts. "Everyone could get in." He settles himself next to Severus and takes a deep breath to keep from stuttering. “What does this--”

“It is much too late to draw you a map,” Severus curls his hand around Neville's arm. “And you would only take a wrong turn anyway.”

“Good night, Severus,” Neville says quietly.

“Good night.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Neville wakes again, the clock is pointed at, "Morning, Almost Running Late", and there's a fresh set of robes on the trunk at the end of the bed. "Severus?" He calls as he pushes aside the covers.

"I sent up a House Elf," Severus replies from the sitting room. "Your books and scrolls are in here."

Neville stands up from the bed, stretches, and washes his face in the bathroom before joining Severus by the fireplace. "Thank you," he says when Severus hands him a cup of tea.

"I gave you that potion for a reason," Severus says flatly.

Neville stares into his tea. "I can't."

"You can. Easily. You refuse to out of some misguided idea of heroism."

"Do you take it?" Neville asks, looking up from his cup. He smiles a little when Severus doesn't answer right away. "Or don't you get nightmares?"

"I have plenty." Severus scowls when Neville's smile widens. "I am so glad to see it's amusing."

"It's not," Neville explains. "It's just nice to hear someone else admit it."

"To have nightmares after horror is natural. To lie about them for fear of being seen as weak is moreso." Severus stands from his chair and puts his empty cup on the mantle. He gives Neville a long, measured look. "Wanting them to disappear for a while is perhaps the most natural reaction of all."

"I didn't have any more once I came here," Neville says quietly. It's an effort to look Severus in the eyes when he says it.

Severus snorts. "Foolishness." But he paues behind Neville's chair and smoothes a hand over his hair. "I am going up for breakfast."

"Shouldn't be far behind you," Neville replies and listens to him leave. He finishes his tea in three gulps after he looks at the clock--Morning, You Should Be Running--and then it's a mad dash to brush his teeth, and get into his clean robes before gathering all his scrolls and quill into his satchel and running up the stairs from the dungeons.

Hermione is crossing the front hall when Neville tops the stairs, and she pauses at the sight of him. "You all right, Nev?" She asks, walking over and straightening the collar of his robe.

"It's--" Neville starts and then presses his lips together. How much to tell, he wonders, and glances into the Great Hall, where Severus is already seated. "Ran late," he finally says. "Had a nightmare," he continues before he can stop himself.

"Was it bad?" Hermione has concern practically written across her face.

"I don't remember it. It was just...dark."

"I have those, too. I hate them. I hate not knowing."

Neville feels himself smile. "Yeah," he agrees.

"But it's daylight now," Hermione continues, "and that means we've got time before we have to worry about it again." Her smile, Neville notices, is slightly off-kilter. He wonders how long its been that way.

"Breakfast?" He says rather than ask. There's a time and a place, probably, he thinks, and directly before breakfast never fits for either.

*

"We need to discuss finals," Minerva says at the staff meeting on Tuesday. She gives a long-suffering sigh when the everyone at the table--save Hermione--groans loudly. "None of that," she admonishes. "It is part of our duty as educators--"

"To terrify all the poor things one last time," Hilbert interrupts.

"To test them and make sure we've not left them with gaps in their knowledge," Minerva corrects. She gives a sharp nod when everyone settles down immediately. "Thank you. As we are into a new phase in the life of Hogwarts as well as the wizarding community, I have been considering making our final exams less about base comprehension and more about practical use."

"I requested such an idea to Albus years ago," Severus murmurs to Neville.

"Maybe that's where Minerva got it," Neville responds.

"Severus," Minerva says, "didn't you and Albus have an ongoing discussion about a similar idea?"

"It was hardly a discussion," Severus answers instantly, but Neville catches the twitch of knee that says he's been caught by surprise. "I would mention it; Albus would toddle on about lemon drops, and then the subject would not be renewed until the next term."

"I want it renewed," Minerva says firmly. "And I'd like the professors to pair up."

"Pair up?" Grace's eyebrows go up. "How?"

"Magic is incredibly complimentary," Minerva explains. "We tell this to the students regularly, but it is rare that their coursework requires them to prove it. I think the final exam time would be an excellent venue for students to make first-hand connections."

"How would we pair up?" Hermione asks.

"What works well with Muggle Studies?" Minerva responds.

Hermione thinks for a moment. "Transfiguration." She states. "Being able to turn magical objects into mundane objects or vice versa would help with disguises and blending in."

"There you are," Minerva waves her hand at the table in general. "Now, the rest of you."

"Arthimacy works well with Astronomy," Nomos says after a pause. He looks at Hilbert. "It's all angles; they just point at different things."

"Sure," Hilbert agrees. "I'm going to need a review on the star charts, but I think that could work."

"Potions and Herbology, of course," Severus says, a bit of boredom sliding into his tone. "That is a given, even if Mr. Longbottom has never shown an aptitude for my branch of magic."

"That Pepper-Up didn't kill you," Neville responds without thinking. He finds himself at the end of half a dozen amazed stares. Minerva and Severus are the only ones who look unimpressed.

"It had an aftertaste of musty socks," Severus counters, and the way he hisses the 's' makes the rest of the table pretend to lose interest in the conversation.

Under the table, once everyone looks away from him, Neville touches Severus's hand in apology. Severus lifts his middle finger and wraps it over the tip of Neville's index finger.

*

"We what?" The Hufflepuff student looks like Neville's just kicked his dog.

"With him?" Another student asks from halfway down the table.

"He is your professor," Neville says calmly. "And it's not that bad. I've been telling you all semester that Herbology and Potions work together."

"He's scary," a third student chimes in. "Professor Snape is really, really scary."

Neville takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his hair. He looks around the room and suddenly knows what to do. "Line up," he orders. "We're going to greenhouse seven."

"What's in greenhouse seven?"

"An explanation." Neville puts his hands on his hips when they all stare at him. "Now, please."

The students line up, two abreast, and Neville leaves them down the path to greenhouse seven. Neville unlocks the door and waves the students in. "Hands in your pockets at all times," he tells them as they file past. "And try not to step on any vines."

The plants in greenhouse seven are nearly overflowing their pots. Neville cringes as a Gryffindor nearly knocks over a sleeping Venus Fly Trap. He arranges the students in a semi-circle and watches them look around. "Does anyone here know what this greenhouse is?"

"It's a greenhouse," a student near the back says, and everyone laughs. Neville gives him a stern look, and the boy looks properly embarrassed. "This," Neville continues, "is the greenhouse for Professor Snape's potions' ingredients." It's very hard not to laugh at the way half the students immediately stand up straighter. "There are a dozen micro-climates in here to allow Professor Snape to grow many different types of plants all at once." Neville points at a Jack Frost, encased in a quarter-inch of ice, to help make his point. "Professor Snape is very good at making potions. You'll learn a lot from him, even if you're scared half the time. But I'm the one who keeps the Jack Frost cold. And I'm the one who knows how much dragon dung to put on the Screechsnap."

Neville looks at each of the students and steps around them to adjust the Venus Fly Trap on its shelf. "And I was absolutely rubbish at potions." He scratches the Venus Fly Trap under its leaves to put it back to sleep. "But now I can make a pretty good Pepper-Up."

"He's still scary."

"When you're an adult," Neville crouches down to be eye-to-eye with his class, "Professor Snape isn't nearly as scary."

"Really?"

"I was rubbish at potions," Neville tells them in the most serious tone he can muster, "and I was terrified of Professor Snape."

"But you're not now. You sit next to him at meals."

"Some people teach very well without being scary." Neville makes a point to smooth his robes and smiles when everyone chuckles. "And some people are just scary because they are. Just remember this: He is not out to get you. He can be mean and scary, but he doesn't actually want you to explode."

There are still some skeptical faces in the crowd, but most of the students look relieved. "Can we at least have the final in the greenhouse?"

"We'll see."

*

"I would not frighten them if they were not mostly useless," Severus says that night as Neville settles into the couch with his grading. "Half of your third period Herbology class managed to turn their Pickling Potion bright orange."

"It's supposed to be bright orange."

Severus lowers his book. "It's supposed to be green."

Neville grimaces. "Ah," is all he says.

"But having the final in that drafty greenhouse--"

"Because your classroom was always so wonderfully warm in the winter."

"Will be acceptable." Severus trails a finger along the page of his book to find his place. "It's about time someone else got to fear that they would die in a student-induced explosion."

Neville chuckles and tucks his feet under Severus to finish his grading.

*

Neville wakes up panting. He hears Severus shift and sit up. “The nightmare,” he says quietly. “I remember it.”

Severus places a hand on Neville’s chest. “Breathe,” he instructs.

Neville forces in a deep breath. It makes his chest burn. “I’m standing in front of the castle, and Voldemort is there. But when I reach into the Sorting Hat, there’s nothing there. And Nagini…” Neville turns his head and looks at Severus’s profile. “She killed you.”

“She always tried,” Severus says quietly.

“And it was B-Bellatrix who cut open my arm.” Neville closes his eyes, and he can see it again. “I couldn’t move fast enough to stop the snake.” He turns his head when Severus pushes his damp hair off of his forehead. “I just want to forget.”

“You do not.”

“Why would I want to remember?”

“Because you’re you,” Severus says as he lays down again. “Because the man you are now is due to the man you were then.”

“I’m worth ten Draco Malfoys,” Neville whispers, and he feels himself smile.

“And twenty of anyone named Potter.”

Neville chuckles drily. “Thank you.”

Severus doesn’t answer for a moment. “You were always more scared than Potter,” he says intently. “He does not share your appreciation for common sense.”

Neville rolls towards Severus and curls against his side. “I wonder if he has nightmares.”

“We all have nightmares.”

*

_Neville woke up in the middle of the night and sat up in bed wondering why. A few seconds passed, and he heard a shout. He was out of bed and opening Severus’s door before he thought to move. Severus was asleep, but swearing, and Neville watched as he flailed his arms._

_“Severus,” he said quietly. Severus flailed and cursed again. Neville took a deep breath. “SEVERUS!” he yelled as loud as he could._

_Severus jerked up in bed, fully awake, sweat lining his temples and his hair in complete disarray. “Yes?” He asked calmly._

_“You were…” Neville considered how to phrase it. “Talking in your sleep,” he finished. “Shouting, actually.”_

_“My apologies.”_

_Neville pocketed his wand and ran a hand over his hair. “My Gran always made cocoa when I woke up in the middle of the night. Would you like a cup?”_

_For a brief moment, Severus looked surprised at the invitation. Then it was gone, and Neville wondered if he’d just imagined it. “Cocoa would be fine, Neville.”_

_“Marshmallows?”_

_“That will suffice.”_

_Neville nodded and stepped out of the room. “I’ll go put on the kettle.”_

*

A week before finals, as the procrastinators in all his classes start to look wild-eyed, Neville finds himself pulled into an alcove by the front door. Severus kisses him hard, hands curling into his robe. Neville moans, very softly, and Severus presses him against the wall. "What's— " is as far as Neville gets before Hermione passes by the alcove and gives a gasp.

"Students!" She hisses and swats at both of them. "For Merlin's sake, Neville, lunch starts in five minutes!"

"I wasn't—" Neville nearly bites his tongue to stop himself. "He started it," he says and points to Severus.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "I don't care. Just don't." She swats at both of them again and walks away.

Neville wipes at his mouth and glares at Severus. "You could have just asked me to talk to her."

Severus smirks. "Perhaps."

“You—” Neville shakes out his robe and gives Severus a look. “Do you ever get embarrassed?” He rolls his eyes when Severus merely raises an eyebrow. “Never mind.”

“I spent a great deal of time as a child being embarrassed,” Severus reaches out and smoothes a crease in Neville’s sleeve. “It ceased to be a concern after a certain amount of time.”

Neville thinks about his student days at Hogwarts. “Yeah.” He tugs at the edges of Severus’s vest and re-fastens the bottom button. “You trip up the stairs enough times, and you don’t hear people laughing after awhile.”

“Something like that,” Severus replies and steps away from Neville. “Lunch?”

*

There are seven explosions during the combined Herbology-Potions final. Two are from Gryffindors, one is from a Hufflepuff, two are from Ravenclaws, and two are Slytherins.

“Exploding is a perfectly normal medical phenomenon,” Neville mutters to Severus when the first Slytherin cauldron sends the half-made Pepper-Up six feet in the air. “In many fields of medicine nowadays, a dose of dynamite can do a world of good.”

“I don't want to talk to you no more,” Severus replies. “You empty-headed, animal food trough wiper.”

Neville grins. It turns into a wince when the dripping Pepper-Up lands on his face. “Touché,” he says before Severus can do more than raise an eyebrow.

“It is in your ear,” Severus hands him a towel.

*

The staff room stays crowded until two in the morning. Neville falls asleep at one point, head on his hand, and when he wakes up, the candles have dimmed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and blinks a few times before he realizes the shadow on the couch is actually Severus. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“You were mumbling,” Severus stands up and walks over to Neville. He presses a bottle into Neville’s hand. “Drink it.” Severus’s tone is somewhere between a command and a request.

Neville stares at the bottle. “They’re not getting worse.”

“You look like death.”

“You’re one to talk,” Neville replies. He closes his eyes when Severus runs a hand through his hair.

“Please,” Severus says just loud enough for Neville to hear.

Neville breathes deep and uncorks the bottle. He drinks it down in a gulp and stands up from the table. “What do you take?”

“I don’t,” Severus slides a hand under Neville’s elbow as he slumps. “I got used to it.”

“I could…” Neville trails off and leans his head on Severus’s shoulder. “I could…”

“But you don’t have to,” Severus says quietly.

  
*

Harry and Ron arrive the day before Christmas Holiday. Hermione yelps when they walk into the Great Hall and nearly knocks Ron over with the hug she gives him. The students stare, mostly, Neville thinks, because none of them have ever seen “Professor Granger” act so spontaneously.

“Damn,” Hilbert mutters.

“Sorry, mate,” Neville says with a pat on the shoulder.

There are two more chairs at the staff table by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione stop hugging and laughing. The three of them sit together at the end of the table, and Neville thinks they look just as conspiratorial and tightly-knit as they always have.

“Nev!” Harry yells and waves an arm. “Get over here!”

It’s tempting for the briefest second, but Severus is to his left, and Grace is trying to goad him into a response by intentionally listing improper potion ingredients.

“And Flutterby is great for calming the shakes, I’ve heard.”

“Miss Wickersham, an intentional idiot is the worst kind.”

“Yes!” Grace throws her arms in the air. “I win!”

“Win?” Neville asks Hilbert.

“The Snape Game,” Hilbert explains. “She gets a point every time he calls her an idiot. First to ten wins.”

Neville looks at Severus, who is cutting into his pork chop and smirking, just barely, at the edges of his mouth. “Can I count all the instances from when I was a student?”

Nomos, on the other side of Grace, scoffs. “Unfair advantage.”

“All right,” Neville says. “Put me at zero.” He puts his hand on top of Severus’s hand and gives Severus a smile. “Has anyone ever told you—”

“I disqualify you,” Severus interrupts. “It is too simple a task to call you an idiot.”

“Ouch,” Nomos says with a grimace. “Scorekeeper?” He offers Neville.

Neville grins. “All right.”

Severus shakes his head. “You’re all juvenile idiots.” He states.

“One point each,” Neville says and slides his fingers under Severus’s hand.

*

Neville gasps when Severus bites his shoulder. “Does—” He moans when Severus wraps a hand around his dick. “Harder,” he whispers and twists a hand in Severus’s hair. He slides his other hand down Severus’s chest and drags his nails along his hip. “Please,” he murmurs, and Severus quickens his pace.

“Yes?” Severus breathes into Neville’s ear.

“Yes.” Neville grinds out and reaches for Severus’s dick. He palms the head and grips the shaft loosely. “How—”

“Tease me,” Severus instructs, and his breath stutters when Neville reaches further and strokes his sac.

“There?”

“There.”

Neville presses his face into Severus’s neck and breathes in hard when Severus quickens his hand again. “I can’t—”

“Then don’t.” Severus kisses Neville and licks the roof of his mouth.

Neville groans, grips Severus’s dick more tightly, and hisses Severus’s name as he comes. He sags into the sheets and chuckles tiredly when Severus rubs against his hips. “Sorry,” he murmurs and strokes Severus again.

“Your other—yes,” Severus groans when Neville uses his other hand to rub his sac. “More.”

Neville adjusts his grip and works Severus harder. “I had a dream about you, when I was a student,” he says against Severus’s shoulder. “You’d yell at me, and then we’d be naked, and then you’d kiss me.”

“Mmm?” Severus hums.

“Scared the hell out of me,” Neville continues. “And I’d wake up and have to change my underwear before anyone else woke up.”

“Is this—” Severus snaps his hips and presses a kiss to Neville’s mouth. “You’ve got a kink?”

“I don’t—” Neville twitches when Severus pinches his nipple. “A little,” he admits.

“Tell.” Severus orders.

Neville kisses Severus on the side of his mouth and squeezes Severus’s sac. “I don’t want you to yell. I want you to…” Neville trails off deliberately and slows his hands. Severus growls and digs his nails into Neville’s side. “That.” Neville whispers. “There.”

Severus presses against him; Neville quickens his hand again, and Severus bites the same place on his shoulder when he comes.

*

Three of his students stop by the main greenhouse to tell him goodbye before they leave. One gives him a gift—a carefully folded, slightly uneven, origami flower—Neville places a non-crumpling charm on it and places it in his satchel. When he looks up, Harry is standing in the doorway. “Hullo, Harry,” Neville greets him with a grin.

“Hey, Nev.” Harry replies and steps inside. He closes the door behind him and looks around. “Always figured you’d end up here.”

“Yeah?”

“You ran circles around the rest of us in Herbology.” Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and leans over to inspect a seedling. “What’s this?”

“Honking Daffodyl.”

“I don’t remember using it.” Harry carefully touches a leaf.

“It’s a personal project,” Neville tells him. “So, how’s travelling been?”

“Kind of a blur. Ron’s got tons of pictures, but I don’t really remember most of it clearly.”

Sounds familiar, Neville thinks. “You think you’re gonna settle for a while, or do you and Ron have some place you haven’t been?”

“We’re done,” Harry strokes a vine of Flitterbloom. The vine lifts and laps at his finger like a cat. “Ron wants to spend time with Hermione and I…” He looks out of a dirt-smeared window, and Neville watches the way his jaw clenches. “I got your note,” Harry finally says.

“Note?”

Harry digs into his pocket and pulls out a bit of crumpled parchment.

_Why us?_

Neville stares at the parchment and curls his left hand into a fist. “I’d nearly forgotten.”

“That’s probably good, because I don’t know,” Harry says with a sigh. “I think that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

“I spent four years as a Muggle,” Neville says before he can stop himself. “I didn’t have to, but I thought…I don’t know. I guess I hoped it would be easier. If there wasn’t magic, the worst things couldn’t get me.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “How’d you end up here?”

“Minerva asked,” Neville says with a shrug. “And Hermione begged.”

Harry grins. “Are you really dating Snape, or is Hermione just getting back at me for not coming home sooner?”

“We’re together,” Neville confirms.

“Weird,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “But if it works.”

“It works.”

*

_“I can help,” Neville said one day, just after the six month mark, as Severus eyed the seven soup pots he had sitting on four burners and three magical fires. “Just point and shout.”_

_Severus shook his head and ran a hand down his face. “I think I may be too exhausted to shout.”_

_“I could drop something,” Neville offered. He smiled when Severus offers him a tired glare._

_“Those three,” Severus waved his hand to encompass the three soup pots on the magical fires, “stir the left one counterclockwise; add a teaspoon of pickled tortoise shell to the middle one, and rig an alarm so that we’ll know when the one on the right has settled.”_

_“All right.” Neville eyed the third pot as he stirred the first and added tortoise shell to the second. He needed something that would alert them that the potion was complete but wouldn’t be affected by the potion itself. He walked to the living room and picked up an empty plant pot. Neville filled it with soil and rummaged in his seed drawer._

_“What are you doing?” Severus practically growled from the kitchen._

_“Honking Daffodyls don’t react to the magical vapors from potion ingredients,” Neville explained as he planted a seed and applied a quick-grow spell. The plant pot shimmered light green, and a vine pushed through the dirt. “And, if you know how to speak to them, you can give them instructions.” Neville waited for the bud of the plant to bloom out. He straightened the leaves, leaned in close, and honked softly three times. The bloom turned towards him and honked once in return._

_“You can’t brew a basic healing salve, but you’ve learned to talk to Honking Daffodyls?”_

_“I don’t have much to do when you’re not around,” Neville explained as he positioned the Daffodyl next to the soup pot. He honked instructions, the bloom nodded, and Neville stroked it on the underside of its petals. “I can’t brew, but I know plants.”_

_“You do,” Severus watched the Daffodyl lean over to look into the soup pot. “Can you grow more of those?”_

_“Easily.”_

_“Then get to it.” Severus rolled his eyes when Neville raised his eyebrows. “I will not be more polite because you’ve proven yourself skilled at something.”_

_“You’re welcome,” Neville said as he walked back into the living room to get more plant pots._

*

It rains on Christmas Day, but Minerva charms the ceiling in the Great Hall to look like snow.

“Snow is simply frozen rain, Minerva,” Severus points out as Hermione pours cups of hot cider, and Nomos spells a series of bells to play carols.

“And that makes all the difference,” Minerva replies tartly. She raises her glass and looks around the table at the staff, Harry, and Ron. “To new friends, and a successful term. And to those who can’t be with us, and to those who can.”

Everyone toasts and drinks, and the bells start to play. Ron offers a hand to Hermione, and they take a slightly clumsy waltz around the room, Hermione beaming the whole way.

“Do you dance?” Grace asks Harry, and before Harry can say anything, Grace has him on his feet.

“Poor sod,” Nomos says to Neville. “He’s not going to know what hit him.”

“He’ll be all right,” Neville says with a grin. “Harry’s got some practice at not dancing.”

Nomos grins, then starts when Hilbert throws himself down in the chair next to him. “Whiskey?” Hilbert offers, holding up a full bottle.

“A drop,” Severus says, holding out his cup. He raises his eyebrows when Nomos and Hilbert look shocked. “It’s not quite the potency I can brew on my own, but it will suffice.”

“You have a still?” Hilbert asks, eyes getting wider.

“No, he doesn’t,” Neville says with a laugh. “Like it doesn’t smell bad enough in your rooms as is.”

“I’m not the one tracking in dragon dung,” Severus replies.

“I can wash off my boots. You have to keep Valerian root,” Neville counters.

“I’m going to get a snack,” Nomos says and hurries away.

Neville gives Hilbert a confused look. “Did I say something?”

“He didn’t think you two were actually…you two,” Hilbert explains. “And now he owes me ten quid.”

“He was at the table during dinner a few nights ago,” Neville says indignantly. “I thought—”

“I believe Mr. Nomos still sees me as something of an ogre,” Severus interrupts. He meets Neville frown with a blank stare. “Until a few years ago, you thought the same.”

“I thought you were scary. That’s different.”

“People will think what they think.”

Neville sighs. “It’s not fair.” He rolls his eyes when Severus smirks at him. “Shut up.”

Severus sips his cider and watches Hilbert walk over to Minerva and strike up a conversation. “Life—”

“Quiet,” Neville says and doesn’t fight his smile. “You’re just trying to get a reaction.”

“Perhaps.”

Hermione walks over, hand-in-hand with Ron and hands both of them book-shaped packages. “We’re off to The Burrow,” she says as she hugs Neville goodbye. “You’re welcome to drop in.”

“We’re staying here,” Neville returns her hug and watches her shake Severus’s hand. “But thanks for the offer.”

“You’re always welcome, mate,” Ron say. “Mum’s been asking after you for years.”

Neville blushes a little, feeling guilty. “Tell her thank you.”

“Sure,” Ron agrees and glances across the room where Grace is still making Harry dance. “Any idea how to rescue him?”

“Grace!” Hermione calls to her, “Harry’s with us!”

“Sure!” Grace replies and immediately steps away from Harry. “Nice to meet you,” she says and walks across the room to sit next to Neville as Harry gapes. “So very easy,” she tells Neville with a grin.

“Terrible,” Hermione says, shaking her head.

Grace simply shrugs and takes a drink of her cider. She waves goodbye to Harry, who hastily shakes hands with Neville and Severus and follows Hermione and Ron out the door.

“He flusters easily,” Grace grins. “It’s hilarious.”

“I would have thought he’d outgrown it,” Neville muses.

“He’s been running around hiding,” Severus says. “He’s not had time to learn how to talk to women.”

Grace raises her eyebrows. “That’s rather harsh.”

“He’s never been a fan,” Neville explains.

Grace shrugs. “Well, he’s run off now. Did I see Nomos with a bottle of whiskey?”

“My personal brew is better,” Severus reaches into his robe and pulls out a small flask. He unscrews the cap and holds it out to Grace. She takes a whiff, and her eyes water.

“Good god,” she practically wheezes and cautiously pours a quarter-inch into an empty cup. She sips. Her face twists, then relaxes. “Wow,” she murmurs. “That’s really quite good.”

“Thank you,” Severus says and accepts back his flask. “But if Nomos asks, I don’t make my own.”

“Of course not,” Grace says with a wink. “What if Minerva is standing behind you?”

Severus immediately holds up the flask. “She helped me perfect it.”

“Thank you, Severus,” Minerva says and pours some into her cider. “Fire Whiskey has always given me a headache. Severus’s blend is much more subtle.”

“The things I didn’t know,” Neville says with a shake of his head. “I never thought the teachers drank at their parties.”

“What did you think?” Minerva asks, sitting down.

“I thought you talked about students and complained about the weather,” Neville admits. “Which is what my Gran and her bridge club always talked about.”

Minerva smiles. “I think most students believe we talk like their grandparents.”

“We should keep that myth alive,” Grace says. “The more boring we seem, the more they’ll listen to us, I think.”

“Be scary,” Neville suggest, smiling at Severus. “It works quite well.”

“’Authoritative’ is the word you meant, Neville,” Minerva corrects lightly.

“Sure,” Neville agrees and laughs when Severus nudges his foot.

*

“Do you want your gift?” Neville asks late that night. He blinks slowly and chuckles at the head rush from the whiskey in his system. “Part of it’s in the greenhouse.”

“It is much too cold and wet to wander outside for a gift,” Severus says as he takes off his robe.

“It’s Honking Daffodyls,” Neville smiles at the way he slurs the ‘s’. “They’re not fully grown, yet, but they’ll be ready in a couple of days.”

“Hmmm,” Severus murmurs and undoes Neville’s robe. “Just in time to start my between-term brewing.”

“That was the plan, yes.” Neville closes his eyes when Severus kisses him softly.

“You taste like whiskey,” Severus says against his mouth.

“Kiss me again,” Neville replies.

Severus complies.

*

“You’ve had a strong first semester,” Minerva tells Neville during his mid-year review two days later. “The students gave you high marks all-around, and I’ve seen nothing that counteracts what they’ve written.”

“That’s good,” Neville clasps his hands on his knees so he doesn’t fidget.

“However,” Minerva says and looks up from her papers. “Oh, Neville,” she says with a shake of her head, “you can relax. This is customary, and you’re not being fired.”

“Oh.” Neville flexes his fingers, and they pop loudly.

“My only concern is your apparent lack of sleep. You’ve worked through it amazingly well, but it is noticeable.”

“Nightmares,” Neville explains. “They’re getting better.”

“Are they?” Minerva asks, skepticism carrying in her tone.

“Really. I just didn’t…” Neville isn’t sure how to phrase it. I never dealt with it all, he thinks, but he doesn’t want to say it aloud. “I have Severus,” he says. “He helps.”

“And you’re helping him.” Minerva holds up a rolled parchment. “His students appear much less terrified than usual.”

“That’s not—” Neville shakes his head. “No, that probably is my influence.”

“And it’s a welcome one.” Minerva stands and gestures Neville towards the door. “You’ve been through more than your fair share, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re a credit to everyone, Neville. Your parents would be more than proud.”

Neville looks down at his feet. “Thank you,” he whispers so his voice doesn’t break.

“You’re very welcome.”

*

Streamers and confetti fall from the ceiling of the Great Hall at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Grace kisses everyone on both cheeks and gleefully pours champagne. Minerva accepts a noise maker from Hilbert and spins it as Nomos says something that makes her laugh. Neville gives Severus a questioning look. Severus reaches for his hand and strokes Neville’s scar with his thumb.

“Another year gone,” Severus says.

“And now for something completely different,” Neville replies.


End file.
